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^©^Iffi^ 



BY 



JAMES G. PERCIVAL. 



Go, little book, from this my solitude, 
I cast Ihee on the waters— go thy ways, 
And if, as I believe, thy vein be good, 
The world may find thee after certain dQ.j5, 

SOUTHEY* 



PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR, 
JULY 25, 1821. 

A. H. Mallhy & Co. Printm> 




DISTRICT OF €0NNECT1CUT, B6.' 

BE IT REMEMBERED ; Tf hat on 
kthe twenty sixth day of July, in the 
'forty sixth year of the independence of 
the united States of America, JAMES 
G. PERCIVAL, of the said District, 
hath deposited in this Office the title of a Book, the right 
whereof he claims as Author, in the words following, t9 
wit: *' Poems, by James G. Percival. 

Go, little book, from this my solitude, * 

I cast thee on the waters— go thy ways. 
And if, as I believe, thy vein be good. 
The world may find thee after certain days. 

Southey."' 
In conformity to the act of the Congress of the Uniie«l 
States, entitled, ♦' An act for the encouragement of 
learning, by securing the copies of Maps, Charts and Books, 
to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the 
limes therein mentioned." 

CHAS. A, INGERSOLL, 
Clerk of the District of Connecticuts 



>'•■/ 



^EllA©!. 



I HAVE a few things to slate 
relative to this volume. I am not 
anxious to write an apology for it. 
It must . stand or fall by its own 
merits. But there are certain cir- 
cumstances connected with its com- 
position and publication, which i 
cannot, in justice to myself, forbear 
stating to the public. A large num- 
ber of the smaller pieces have before 
appeared in the Microscope, a peri- 
odical paper published last year in 
New-Haven. I have learnt from 
various sources that they were weli 
received. I do not deny, that this 
circumstance, in connection with the 
fact,, that they were copied into manj 



VI PREfACK. 

polluted these pages with aught, that 
can render that monster less hateful 
or more alluring. I have said a few 
things in relation to Neapolitan liber- 
ty, which are not in accordance with 
historical truth. I wrote them imme- 
diately on the reception of news 
more favourable than the reality. I 
have expressed opinions, in this vol- 
ume, opposed to the commonly re- 
ceived opinions of society. I wish 
1 could think differently, but J cannot. 
It is indeed a very comfortable and 
consoling thing, to look from the 
sight and the feeling of so much 
'vrctchedness to a brighter being, 
where the most ardent mind may 
indulge in ihe most unbounded antici- 
pations ; l)ut the mind, v/hich desires 
it most ardently, may be too sadly 
convinced, it is all a dream. This 
is the first time I have appeared 
before the world as an original 
author. It may be the last. I can- 



fREFACE. Vil 

not say *• exegi monumentum cere 
perennius^"''' but 1 have at least set 
myself up to be applauded, or neg- 
lected, or damned. On these points 
the Public i& a sovereign ; but I 
hope it will do me justice. I ask no 
more. 



©®lf^lI!Si 



«^<* 



ODES. 






Page. 


To Melancholy 





To Fancy, a fragment 


11 


Napoleon - . - 


- 12 


ToMusick - - - - 


13 


On Death 


- 19 


To Religion - - - - 


22 


Star of Bethlehem 


- 24 


The Judgment - - - 


25 


Trumpet" of Liberty 


- £B 


On the Emancipation of Spain 


29 


Day-Star of Liberty - 


- 31 


On the Emancipation of South America 


32 


On the Emancipation of Greece - 


- 33 


Sonnet to Italy - - 


36 



PATRIOTIC. 

Ode on our National Independence 

Battle of Nevv-Orleani 

Death of Lawrence 

Perry's Victory 

Tribute to the Brave 

By the Spirits of the Dead - 

Ode to the Memory of Perry 

DITHYRAMBIC. 

Fill the Cup for me - 
Balmy juice of rich Madeira 
They may tell me, fcc. 

BALLADS. 

On the lake in Vermont 

i<ocli.Maree 



X CONTENTS. 

Pagt. 

The Mermaid - - - - 63 

Home - - . - %65 

EROTICg. 

Adieu my Love - - - 73 

The Fairest Rose is far awa' - 74 

The Parting of William and Mary - 75 

Henry and Mary - - - 11 

Star of my heart I. - - - 79 

II. - - 80 

I thought I lov'd - - - 81 

Is there a tear - - - 82 

To see a dear one - - - 83 

The Serenade - - - ib 

There is an hour - - - 86 

' Tis night — but yet the moon is high id 

The Lamp of Love - - - 88 

The Galley Slave - - - 90 

On the death of Miss - - 91 

Give me a lonely seat - • - 92 

The flower of the Valley . - 94 

?^ronte video - - - - 95 

The Violet - - - - 96 

VARIETY. 

How sweet is the turf - ' - 98 

Rest, Oh my Lyre - - 99 

She's gone — the idol of my heart - 101 

"When the winter of sorrow's, &c. - 102 

When I roam o'er the fields - - 104 

I was once happy and blest - - ib 

Once on a cloudless summer-day - 105 

My heart too firmly trusted - - 106 
Arabia may boast ... ]07 

Dear little angel of my heart - 108 

Come — come away - - - 1 10 

One Evening - - - - HI 

I love the ruddy cheek - - - 112 

Who is that mourner - - 114 

Sec— i)0w the ckiar - - - 1 16 



CONTENTS. 




XI 
Page, 


To the Rose I. 


=. 


iia 


11. 


. 


- 119 


III. - 


- 


120 


I saw a flow'r of softest hue 


- 


- 121 


Anemone Hepatica - 


- 


123 


Gentiana Crinlta 


- 


- 124 


Can I touch my harp again - 


- 


125 


Give me the Ijre of Harmony 


> 


. 120 


My heart is sad 
To Seneca Lake 


- 


- r^ 


. 


129 


Boat Song 


- 


- 130 


They say, that Esteem 


- 


131 


'Tis morning, and all is gay around 


- 132 


AVhy slumbers thy Lyre 




134 


An Imprecation 


- 


- 336 


Despondency I. - 




138 


^ [[. 


~ 


- 139 


VIethought 'twas in the desert 




LfO 


The Suicide's Grave - , 


- 


- 141 


ELEGIES. 






On my Father's Tomb 




143 


See how the fiowret 


. 


- 144 


The Mourner 




144 


Valeric 


„ 


- 147 


Hard is Ihe Poet's fate 




14f] 


The last blue hill 


^ 


- 149 


Care-worn, and sunk 




150 


Farewell to my Lyre 


~ 


- 152 


The Suicide 




153 


SONNETS. 






The Rose-bush - 


„ 


- 172 


The Bower - 




ib 


The Eye-lid 


. 


- \rz 


Soft-heaviog wave - 




174 


Spring - - - 


_ 


- ib 


To Sleep 




175 


To the Grave - 


. 


. !b 



XH 



CONTENTS. 



'Tis not the future dread 

We think of what we might have been 

Niagara - - - 

I stand upon the mountains 

Monarch of Mountains 

Catania - - - - 

My Country . _ . 

Now to my task 

My hand 13 clafp'd - - - 

To the Piano - - - 

IMITATIONS, &c. 

Interludes of Tasso's Aminta 
Anacreontics . - - 

Horatian - - - - 

Homeric . _ _ 

Virgilian - - - - 

Sinumian _ - - 

The Goblet - - - 

Swans of Helicon 
Paphian Doves - 

Fragments of a Poera on the Incas 
ZAMOR, a Tragedy 



VARIETY. 

Blank measure I. 
II. 

^ in. 

w, . 

. V. 

. VI. . 

Heroic rhyme, the Drama 

iii. 

IV. - 
V. 
•pilOMETHEUS 



^y^ 



®Bli 



AN ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 20 

" The Joy of Grief.*'-— O^^ian. 

MELANCHOI.Y ! blue ey'd maid, 
Glad in simple russet stole, 
Thou who lov'st the silent shade 
And weep'st where murmuring riv'lets voU 
Calmer of the troubled breast 
Heaving wild with passion's throe, 
Thou who lay'st the heart at rest 
And cool'st distraction's fever'd glow , 
When thou leanest o'er the rill 
And minglest with its wave thy tear, 
O I what sounds the woodland fill 
And softly whisper in my ear. 

Come then enchanting Melancholy— 
Thou sweetest mistress of my heart *, 
Come let us leave the haunts of folly 
And taste the joys that ne'er depart,- 

♦lelancholy 1 maid of Heaven ; 
Thine are pleasures known by few- 
Joys to favourites only giv'n — 
Joys that soothe like summer dew ; 
Thine the harp, whose golden wire 
Bids heaven's sweetest music rol!, 
B 



10 

Kindling uith a Seraph's fire 
And calmly stealing to the soul. 
When ihou pour'st the dying strain, 
Naiads smile along the wave, 
Shepherds listen on the plain 
And hermits in the mountain cave. 
Come then, &;c. 

3TcbncIioly I Pity's child ; 
Turn on me thine eye of blue, 
Soft as Avhen affection sraiPd 
Or wept compassion's purest dew ; 
"Wake thy voice that charms the grove. 
Breathe thy calmest, sweetest lay — 
Strike thy silver chord of love, 
And drive the cruel fiend away ; 
For thou sooth'st the torlur'd heart 
To a holy heavenly calm, 
And gently heal'st alRiotion^s smart, 
With thy music's soft'ning balm. 
Come then, &c. 

Angel of the green-wood shade ; 

"Jlet me lie on moss leciin'd 

When the hues of evening fade 

And calmly blows the fragrant wind- 

l.et me lie be=iJe thy rill 

And view the stream that ripples by, 

Till my soul shall drink its fill 

Of thy delightful melody. 

Oh ! ho.v soft-^how sweet — how mile'* 

All the sounds that kiss tliy string — 

How they echo from the wild 

And in the llow'ry vallil^ ring. 

Come then, Ac, 

Melancholy I dearest maid, 

"; nding Io\,- thine eye of u'lc 



11 

Roam the gently opening glade 

And thickets gemm'd with morning dew ■; 

Seek the cool sequestered cave 

When the noon is glowing bright ; 

Host where forests slowly wave 

And floats a faintly trembling light. 

Where'er thou rov'st at early dawn, 

Or sil'st, when glows the noontide sky, 

Dearer at night the quiet lawn 

And winding rill that ripples by. 

Come then enchanting Melancholy, 
Thou sweetest mistress of my heart ; 
Come let us leave the haunts of folly 
And taste the joys that ne'er depart. 



FRAGMENT OF 

AN ODE TO FANCY- 20 

LET us in the early dawn 
S('ek (he mountain's awful brow, 
When the shades of night are gone 
And calmly smiles the scene below; — • 
Let us wander carelessly 
Through the silence-"^reathing wood, 
And gaze where swiftly rushes by 
Whiten'd with foam the troubled flood; — 
Let UK steal along the vale 
Where the bee is humming 'round, 
And the velvet-pinion'd gale 
Whispers o'er (he flow'ry ground. 
Nymph of most enchanting power, 
Let us roam the wild wood throughj 
When at morn or evening's hour 
Droop the leaves with pearly dew. 



12 



NAPOLEON. 2G 

HIS glance was fixM on power alone, 

His breast was steelM to woe ; 
He car'd not for the dying groan, 

His tears could never flow : 
Hard as the rock, his flinty soul 

Sported M'ith life and blood ; 
Impatient of the least controul. 



O'er Europe's plains he marchM to slay, 

He spoke — and empires fell ; 
Destruction's gory path his way ; 

His voice — a nation's knell : 
Kings bent their necks beneath his rod. 

And own'd his iron sway ; 
On crowns and thrones he proudly trod 

Or threw the toys away. 

^' Be free," the lying despot said™ 

*' Be free'^—and they were slaves; 
Sefore hira every virtue fled — 

He dug their dreary graves : 
vladly he hopM to be obeyM 

By realms in ruin hurlMj 
And 'neath his banner's ..vvful jhade 

.'^'o gather in the world. 



13 



AN ODE TO MUSICK. 2§ 

'lEa-ffiTi vjv (a;i,M8Tat/, 'oxv^xttia S'ajuat' t^aircti. 

Iliad, B. z. 

I. 

DESCEND, and with thy breath inspire ray 
Descend, and o'er oiy lyre [soul ; 

Diffuse thy living fire ; 
Oh ! bid its chords a strain of grandeur roll : 
Touch'd by thy hand their trembling accents 

ring; 
Borne on thy sounding pinions through the sky. 
To heaven the notes in burning ardour spring, 
And as the tones in soften'd wYiifpers die, 
Love seems to-flutter round on his Aurora-wing. 

II. 

Oh ! Muse, who erst in Tempe's flow'ry vale 
Wert wont to tune thy harp and breathe thy soul, 
And o'er Peneus pour thy dying wail ; 
Who, when loud roaring thuadersrock'd the pole, 
Burst from the dell and 'mid the growling storm 
Involv'd in lurid gloom thy shining form ; 
And while the tempest r Olympus frown'd, 
And light'nings glitter'n rot d the throne of Jove, 
Thy lyre, with hurried notes and awful sound, 
Seem'd like the voice that rung through dark 
Dodona's grove. 

III. 

Reclin'd amid the woods that wav'd around 
Castaiia's crystal fount and murmuring stream^ 
While ever-bloomiug flow'rets deck'd the 

ground. 
And brighten'd in the summer's soften'd beam, 
Thy virgins nine, with lyres of burnish'd gold, 
Around thy Sylvan throne their descant roil'd, 

13 9. 



14 

And through the mouDtain glen — the pensive 

shade, 
A mellow echo would the strain prolong;, 
And as around the hollow cliffs it play'd, 
A thousand heavenly harps seem'd answering to 

the song. 

lY. 

Urania, o'er her star-bespangled lyre, 
With touch of naajesty diffus'd her soul ; 
A thousand tones, that in the breast inspire 
Exalted feelino;s, o'er the wires 'gan roll — 
She sang of night that cioth'd the infant worldj^ 
In strEiins as solemn as its dark profound — 
How at the call of Jove the mist unfurl'd, 
And o'tr the swelling vault — the glowing sky, 
The new-born stars huug out their lamps oq 

high, 
And roll'd their mighty orbs to musick's sweet- 
est sound. 

V. 
Majestic Clio touch'd her silver wire. 
And through time's iengthen'd visla mov'd a 

train, 
In dignity sublime ;— the patriot's fire 
Kindled its torch in heaven's resplendant ray, 
And 'mid contention rose to heaven again. 
In brightness glowing like the orb of day, 
The warrior drove his chariot o'er the slain, 
And (iy''d its wheels in gore ; — the battle's yell, — 
The dying groan, — the shout of victory, — 
Now like the tempest-gust in horror swell, 
Now like the sighing breeze in silence meit away, 

VI. 

But when Erato brush'd her fiow'ry lute, 
What strains of sweetness whisper'd in the wind'! 
Soft as at evening when the shepherd's flute 
To tones of melting love alone resigu'd. 



15 

Breathes through the windings of the silent vale ; 
Complaining accents tremble on the gale, 
•Or notes of extacy serenely roll. 
So when the smiling muse of Cupid sung, 
Her melody sigh'd out th€ sorrowing soul, 
Or o'er her silken chords sweet notes of gladness 
rung. 

vir. 

But oh Melpomene 1 thy lyre of woe — 
To what a mournful pitch its keys were strung, 
And when thou bad'st its tones of sorrow flow, 
Each weeping muse, enamour'd, o'er thee hung : 
IJow sweet — how heavenly sweet, when faintly 
The song of grief, and at its dying close [rose 
The soul seem'd melting in the trembling breast ; 
The eye in dews of pity flow'd away. 
And ev'ry heart, by sorro\v's load opprest. 
To infant softness sunk, as breath'd thy raournfi!! 
lay. 

vni. 

But when thy harp, oh Calliope ! rang — 
In Epic grandeur rose the lofty strain ; 
The clash of arms, the trumpet's awful clang 
Mix'd with the roar of conflict on the plain ; 
The ardent warrior bade his coursers wheel, 
Trampling in dust the feeble and the brave. 
Destruction flash'd upon his glittering steel. 
While round his browencrimson'd laurels wav'd, 
And o'er him shrilly shriek'd the demon of the 
grave. 

IX. 

Euterpe glanc'd her fingers o'er her lute, 
And lightly wak'd it to a cheerful strain, 
Then laid it by, and took the mellow flute, 
Whose softly fJowing warble fjll'd the plain : 



16 

It was a lay that roused the drooping soul, 
And bade the tear of sorrow cease to flow ; 
From shady woods the Nymphs enchanted stole. 
While laughing cupids bent the silver bow, 
Fluttering like fays that flit in Luna's soften'd 
glow. 

X,. 
The rage of Findar fill'd the sounding air, 
As Polyhymnia tried her skill divine ; 
The shaggy lion rous'd him from his lair, 
And bade his blood-stain'd e3^es in fury shine ; 
The famish'd eagle poisM his waving wings, 
Whetting his thirsty beak — while murder rose, 
With hand that grasps a dirk, with eye that 

glows 
In gloomy madness o'er the throne of kings, 
And, as she bade her tones of horror swell, 
The demon shook his steel with wild exulting. 
^ yell. 

XL 

How light the strain when, deck'd ia vernal 
Thaha tun'd her lyre of melody, [bloom, 

And when Terpsichore, with iris-plume, 
Bade o'er her lute her rosy- tingers fly ; 
''Twas pleasure all — the fawns in mingled choirs 
Glanc'd on the willing nymphs their wanton fires, 
Joy shook his glittering pinions as he flew ; 
The shout of rapture and the song of bliss. 
The sportive titter and the melting kiss, 
All blended with the smile, that shone like early 
dew. 

XII. 

Their music ceas'd, — and rising from thy thronej 
Thou took'st thy harp that on the laurel hung, 
And bending o'er its chords to try their tone, 
A. faintly trembling murmur o'er them rung.;. 



17 

At each sweet sonnd that broke upon the eRr, 
Started the list'ning throng and gaz'd and smil'd ; 
The satyr leaning on his ivy spear, 
Peep'd forth delighted from the flow'ry wild, 
And, while thou tun'dst the keys, the raptur'd 

soul 
Hung o'er the flying tones that on the zephyrs 

stole. 

XIII. 

This prelude o^er, a solemn strain arose, 
As stray'd thy fingers slowly o'er the wire ^ 
How grand the diapason — and its close, 
As when to heaven the organ notes aspire, 
And through the gloomy aisle, the lofty nave, 
Sv.'ell out the anthem pealing o'er the grave — 
Low muttering thunders seem'd to roar around, 
And rising whirlwinds whisper'd in the ear ; 
The warrior started at the solemn sound, 
Half drew his sword and slowly shook his spear; 
The tiger couch'd and gaz'd with burning eye, 
In horror growPd, and lash'd his waving tail ; 
The serpent rustled like the dying gale, 
And bade his tongue in purple ardour &y, 
Quivering like lurid flames beneath the midnight 
sky, 

XIV. 

The fury of the storm is howling by, 

The whirlwinds rush, the bursting thunders roll, 

Grim horror settles o'er the low'ring sky, 

And ruin ilashes on the shuddering soul : 

So burst with sudden swell thy awful strain, 

And every blast of war was on the gale; 

The madd'ning warriors mingled on the plain, 

Loud rose the yell, and rang the clanging mail ; 

The victor's dripping chariot crush'd the slain ; 

The raging tiger with terrific roar 

Sprang on his prey, and dy'd his claws in gore • 



18 

Ririii;^ on spires that shone with varied hue — - 
Bright crimson, burnish'd gold, and livid blue, 
The serpent hissing in his burning ire, 
Glanc'd on his flying foe, and fix'd his tooth of 
lire. 

XV. 

Struck by thy bounding quill, a mellow lay 
Rang o'er the harp and softly died away : 
As pour'd the descant in the Avarrior's ear, 
The roar of conflict ceas'd along the plain, 
The foes exulting trampled on the slain, 
And shook in mingled dance the glimmering 

spear ; 
In listless ease reclinVI, the t!2:er lay, 
And fondly sported with his bleeding prey ; 
At times (he serpent wav'd his quiv'ring tail, 
Then coiPd his folds and all to peace resign'd, 
Listened the strain that sported in the wind, 
And hiss'd his pleasure, shrill as sounds the 

infant's wail. 

XVL 

At last a murmur trembled on the Ijre, 
Soft as the dirge that echoes o'er the bier : 
Robb'd of his spirit bold, his daring fire — 
The vauquish'd warrior dropp'd a tender tear, 
Leant on his bloody sword and breath'd a sigh ; 
And as the tiger spread his claws of gold, 
Fawn'd round thy form and purr'd his extacy — 
His emerald eyes in languid softness roU'd ; 
The serpent falling gently from his spire. 
Glided with easy sweep along the plain. 
In graceful windings wanton'd round thy lyre, 
Ajid kiss'd the trembling chord that bieatli'd the 
soothin? strain. 



19^ 
ODE ON DEATH. 20 

TOLL for the brave- 
He whom we saw afar, 
First in the ranks of war, 

Sleeps in the grave ; 
No flags or pennons o'er the Hero wave; 
Ne'er shall the cannon's roar, the trumpet^s 

breath. 
The drum's loud tumult wake the sleep of death, 
No shout of triumph animate the brave; 
No burnish'd Eagle glitters o'er his head, — 
High from his tomb the bird has ta'en her flight, 
\Vhile sable yew? o'ershadow Honour's bed, 
And coldly fall the chilling dews of night, 
Steeping the wintry turf that hides the mighty 

dead. 

Toll for the just- 
That eye of temper'd fire, 
Which shunnM each wrong desire, 
Fades in the dust ; 
Hush'd is that eloquence so nobly bold, 
Tlje heart that felt for sufTering is cold, 
Affliction mourns above his houour'd bust— 
Her tears slow-stealing o'er its marble cheek 
Teil of his soul of majesty and love, 
His e^'e, that ever gianc'd on things above. 
At once injustice firm, in kind compassion meek: 
Goodness must fade — the equal hand of death 
Quenches the villain's and thejust man's breallK 

Toll for the fair — 
Gol seek the lonely tomb, 
Go I wander through its gloom. 
She slumbers there : 
Her angel look that mftVied every soul, 
Htr eye that roU'd »' " • of tendemeas; 



20 

Her form encircled round with every grate, 
Now moulder 'neath corruption's sable stole; 
The worm is cradled on her forehead fair 
And wantons 'mid the ringlets of her hair, — 
Each tint of faded beauty charms no more ; 
The fragrance of her lip, its living rose, 
No more in heaven's own purest crimson glows— 
^Tis livid as the stream that laves th' averniac 
shore. 

A fleeting day 
The cheek of beauty glows, 
The voice of music flows, 

Then melt away ; 
Fluttering amid the summer's transient ray 
The gaudy fop expands his shining wing ; 
In bounding step the merry dancers spring, 
Like insects sportive, like the rainbow gay : 
Soon o^er this smiling scene the wint'ry storm 
Of dark affliction sheds its lurid gloom, 
Wafting upon its blast Destruction's form, 
Who calls with voice of thunder to the tomb ; 
Like lightning flashing o'er the sleeper's head, 
He wakes them from their dream, then hides 

them with the dead. 

We all must die — 
Each form, that proudly soars 
Where war's confusion roars, 
Must lowly lie ; 
The bard must hush his voice and close his eye t 
His clay-cold hand must rest lipon his lyre, 
No more to wake its hallow'd soul of fire, 
No more to swell the heart or steal the sigh : 
Low in the humid dust, the noisome grave. 
We rest our wearied limbs, we end our toils ; 
There fade the short-liv'd laurels of the brave. 
There melt away the statesman's causele&s 
broi!?, 



21 

There wastes the corpse to dust—'tis ail vr.e 

know 
Of man, the tenant of a world of woe. 

How dark the tomb ! 
Doubt shades that dreary cave, 
And curtains round the grave 
With formless gloom. 
O ! what a spectre issues from its womb,— 
How dark bis swarthy ey£, its lurid glare, 
Like flames that in the dreary midnight flare, 
With what a hollow voice he speaks our doom. 
Impervious darkness on its raven wing 
Kangs o'er the bed of death ; the sceptic eye 
Sees no fair realm beyond this being lie, 
While wan despair and ghastly terror fling 
Their horrors o'er the couch, where helpless 
mortals die. 

Is there a ray, 
Whose brightness can illume 
The grave, and bid the gloom 

Disperse away? 
Is there a twinkling star amid this storm, 
Where all is cold and cheerless, all despair ? 
Heveals it to the sight an angel form, 
Whose pinions floating on the murky air 
Scatter the tempest-clouds, and o'er the sky 
TJnveil a morning tint of rosy hue. 
And clothe the noontide vault with lovely blue, 
While through the vale light airs and balmy 

zephyrs fly ? 

There is a form, — 
Whose brightly-beaming eye 
Disperses from the sky 
Life's gloomy storm : 
Around her brow celestial radiance plays, 
Her candid vestments shine with dazzling light. 



22 

A thousand twinkling gems, like stars of night, 
In virtue's M^rs on her bosom blaze ; 
She speaks — and tones of heavenly harmony 
Flow through the air and tremble on the gale ; 
The mourner raises her desponding eye, 
And the heart-broken maid remits her wail — 
^Tis Hope, who bending from her native skies, 
Bids through Death's" dreary vale delicious 
beauties rise. 



ODE TO RELIGION. 25 

DAUGHTER of heaven '. whose tender eye 
Bends from thy throne of light above, 
And in the wounds of misery 
Distils the healing tears of love ; 
Clad in the spotless robes of day 
Thou clear'st the moral night away, 
And at thy touch dispersive, roll 
The dark impervious clouds, that shroud the 
guilty scuL. 

Along the vale of death and pain' 
Jn sable weeds a band appears ; 
Around them fly a horrent train 
Of sharp regrets and boding fears ; 
O'er flinty paths their way they wind 
And leave their track in blood behind; 
Remembrance has no light to cheer. 
And dim through louring clouds the beams of 
hope appear. 

They backward look on early fiow'rs. 
On buds of bhss and dews of joy : 
How few, how fleeting were those hours—' 
They llalter'd only to destroy : 



23 

Amid (he woven blossoms rose 
The gloomy forms of real woes, 
And Disappointment backward threw, 
With cold repulsive hand, the eager-hastening 
crew. 

With bcimding heart and burning soul. 

With look elate and eye of fire, 

Youth hurried from the lifted goal, 

Impell'd by glory, love, desire : 

i3efore hinri ?hone the dazzling prize — 

Hope fiash'd exulting from his eyes, 

He stretch'd his hand — despair, with thrilling 

scream, 
RepelPd his grasp and broke his gilded dream. 

Celestial maid ! thy melloiv light 
Can pierce the clouds that round us lour, 
And pour upon the drooping sight 
From heav'n the soul-enkindling show'r ; 
And as the soft-distilling rain 
Enlivens all the thirsty plain. 
Thy drops of love awake the heart 
And heal the festering wounds of sorrow's ve- 
nom'd dart. 

O come I and on me kindly lay 
The mantle of thy loveliness. 
And all my errors wash away 
In the pure fountain of thy grace ; 
And wjien I weep o'er joys gone by. 
And view the past with wishful eye. 
Be thine to lift my sinking soul. 
And guide my wearied steps to heav'ns eternal 
sroaL 



m 



STAR OF BETHLEHEM. S^ 

BRIGHTER than the rising day 
When the sua in glory shines, 
Brighter than the diamond's ray 
Sparkling in Golconda's mines, 
Beaming through the clouds of woe. 
Smiles in mercy's diadem 
Brighter on the world below, 
The Star that rose in Bethlehem. 

When our eyes are dimm'd with tears, 
This can light them up again, 
3weet as music to our ears 
Faintly warbiiog o'er the plain. 
Never shines a ray so bright 
From the purest earthly gem, 
O ! there is no soothing light 
Like the Star of Bethlehem. 

Grief's dark clouds may 'round us rol^ 
Every heart may sink in woe, 
Gloomy conscience rack the soul 
And sorrow's tears in torrents flow ; 
Still through all these clouds and storms- 
Shines this purest heav'niy gem, ^ 
With a ray that kindly warms — 
The Star that rose in Bethlehem. 

When we cross the roaring wave 
That rolls on life's remotest shore, 
When we look into the grave 
And wander through this w^orld no more 5 
This the lamp, whose genial ray, 
Like some brightly glowing gem, 
Points to man his darkling way™ 
The Star that rose in Eethfeheatc 



25- 

Let the world be sunk in sorrow ^ 
Not an eye be charm'd or blest ; 
We can see a fair to-morrow 
Smiling in the ro«y west ; 
For this beacon Hope displays, 
For in Mercy's diadem 
Shines with Faith's serenest rays 
The Star that rose in Bethlehem^ 

When this gloomy life is o'er, 
Wheo we smile in bliss above, 
When on that delightful shore 
We enjoy the heaven of love ; 
O 1 what dazzling light shall shine 
Round salvation's purest gem ; 
O 1 what rays of love divine 
Gild the Star of Bethlehem. 



THE JUDGMENT. 

HARK I the Judgment trump has blown- 
How it rolls along the air ! 
Time and Hope forever flown, 
Sinners for your doom prepare. 

Slowly o'er the lurid sky 
Rolls a dark terrific storm, 
ohowing to the startled eye 



JIark ! the rattling hail descends, 
See ! the fork}' lightnings glow, 
As that form in anger bends. 
Frowning on the world below. 

Riding on the whirlwind's wing, 
Canopied in clouds he flies ; 
With his voice the mountains ring. 
With his presence glow the skies. 



26 

Earthquakes roar and rock the ground. 
Tyrants bow before his rod, 
Nations tremble at the sound, 
When they hear the voice of God. 

Lo ! the God he comes in wralh — 

Ven2;eance drives his iron car, 
Lightnings pave his flaming path, 
As he hurries to the war. 

" I have waited long and spared, 
Ingrates, on my bounty fed — 
Now my red right-arm is bar'dj 
Now your day of hope is fled> 

I have bid my sun to shine, 
I have bid my dews to fall, 
I have sent my love divine — 
You have spurn'd and wasted alL 

Now the day of trial o'er, 
I my fatal shaft let fly ; 
Mercy can endure no more — 
Time must end and you must die.-' 

R-ipe with sin the harvest bends — 
See ! the mighty reaper stand, 
There his burning scythe he sends 
And with fury sweeps the land. 

See ! the fields and forests glow. 
See I the mounting flame aspire, 
Hark I the sinner's yell of woe, 
Gasping in a world of fire. 

Helpless wretches ! whither Hy ? 
In what den a shelter find ? 
See ! the blasting bolt is nigh, 
Flame before, and wrath behind. 



27 

Like the chaff by whirlwinds driverij 
Like the earthquake-shatter'd rock, 



^ Like the oak by tempest riven, 
Torn and splintered with the shock ; 

So they fly, a quivering throng, 
Urg'd by shame, despair and fear ; 
Hurried by the sword along, 
f Flashing, falling on their rear. 

Hear the crackling whirlwind roar i 
Sheets of flame ascend the sky ; 
Now the feeble cry is o'er, 
Quench'd in dark eternity. 

Now the hills and mountain? melt, 
Rocks in flashing torrents run, 
To earth's heert the rage is felt,— 
Now the work of wrath is done. 

Curling like the letter'd scroll, 
Crisp'd and crackling in the flame, 
Now heav'n's vaulted arches roll , 
Falls the universal frame. 

Now the circling blue has fled, 
Suns wax faint and stars grow dim, 
Heaven and earth away have sped, 
Time's last trump their dying hymn. 

Matter now has ceas'd to be, 

All is pure ethereal light ; 

Saints, from all that bound them free, 

To th' empyrean wing their flight. 

In that fount their beings blend, 

All their thaughts thcr views the same 

See ! creation's essence end 

In one flood of viewless flaaie. 



28 



TRUMPET OF LIBERTY. 21 

TRUMPET of Liberty- 
Trumpet of Freedom — 
Call on thy sons 
And to victory lead them : 
¥outh whose bright tresses wai*©^ 
Age with locks hoary, 
All who are good and brave, 
Summon to glory. 

Trumpet of Liberty-— 

Rend thou asunder 

Slavery's chains 

With a war-note of thunder. 

Slaves from your slumbers start, 

Wake ye from slavery — 

OI let the warrior's heart 

Kindle in bravery. 

Trumpet of Liberty — 

Europe shall hear thee. 

Blow Freedom's blast, 

Every tyrant shall fear thes. 

Call on the brave, 

And to victory lead them — 

Tyrants to death, 

And the slave to his freedom. 

Nations arise ! 

In the might of your bravery ; 

Banish your kings — 

Live no longer in slavery; — 

Rise in your strength — 

They shall tremble and fear vqus 

Call for your rights — 

Zyery tyrant shall -hear joy. 



2^ 

Katjons, be free ! 

'Tis your good and your glory; 

Then shall your deeds 

Live and brighten in story. 

Trumpet of Liberty — 

On to fame lead them. 

O I they shall conquer, 

For sacred is freedom. 



ODE ON THE £0 

EMANCIPATION OF SPAIN. 

ROM her slumber the Genius of Freedom is 

waking, 
Vhere her flag through long ages of darkness 

lay furi'd ; 
From slavery's cloud all her bright beams are 

breaking, 
Like the Sua from a tempest that saddenM the 

•world : 
At her touch — sea her banner esultingly wa\-e, 
At her call — see the Spaniard to liberty spring- 

iear each voice the wild hymn of deliverance. 

?inging, 
While the iunerai kriel! of the tyrant is ringing, 
That calls hiia to death and the gloora of the 

grave. 

O'er those hills rich with vines, o'er those plains 

gay v/ith roses, 
Where Bigotry glar'd like a Meteor of night, 
Now the s'jnl)eam of Liberty sweetly reposes, 
And y-eotly re-echoes (hj^, song of deiight; 
The letters, that clankM 'rouod tiie form of tl 

^sla-ve, 



30 

Melt away like the transient dew of the motit- 

While bright as yon rainbow the blue heav'ns 

adorning, 
Of his doom of destruction base tyrannj' warn- 

Shines freedom's starred wreath on the brow of 
the brave. 

O ! long have ye slept in the dungeon of woe, 
And mourn'd o'er your fetters through lingering 

years, 
Where the dirges of sorrow unceasingly flow 
And the eye of the mourner is melted in tears ; 
No sound but the death-knell was pour'd in 

your ear, 
Ko sight — bat Despair in his agony starting, 
Distraction his glance like the thunderbolt 

darting. 
The wretch 'neath the red scourge of Bigotry 

smarting, 
The wild glare of madness, the shiv'ring ef 

fear. 

But the lightning of Freedom has rous'd every 
soul 

From the chill icy slumber, the sleep of the 
grave ; 

With radiant fingers she points to the goal, 

Where glitters the crown that encircles the 
brave: 

Then burst into life like the beast from his lair, 

When he stalks through the desert with hunger 
wild roaring, 

Rush on like the flood through the mountain 
glen pouring, 

llise — rise like ihe hawk on his pinions high- 
soaring, 

And show to the tvrant what freemen can dare 



a I 

21 
DAY-STAR of Liberty— dawn on our sky ; 
Day-Star of Liberty — kindle thy light ; 
Dawn on the plains, where the Polanders lie 
Slumbering in slavery, buried in night, 

Day-Star of Liberty — bright are thy rays ; 
Day-Star of Liberty — clear is Ihy beam : 
Dawn on our hills with thy ruddiest blaze, 
Shine thro' the forest and brighten the streain= 

Wake from his slumber the high-hearted Pole, 
Point him to freedom and summon him on ; 
Spirit him up in his vengeance to roll 
Backward the Rtiss and the Cossac of Don. 

Shine on the tombs where our Heroes are laid, 
fieroes — who died for their country and hurl'd 
5oly man's legions in crowds to the dead, 
Heroes — who rescued from Mahmud the worlds 

Hark 1 Sobieski has called from his fomb : 
'* Think of our glory — no longer be slave?, 
Summon the merciless Russ to their doom, 
O ! let the fields, they have rohb'd, be their 
graves." 

Pole? — will you sleep when your Demi-God 
calls ? , 

Poles — Will you bend to the yoke of the Czar? 

Think of Suwarrow — of Prague's modderina; 
walls, 

Raise freedom's flag — sound the trumpet of war. 

Vengeance — to arms ! Sobieski ! the word- - 
Vengeance — to orms I on, ye Pobndtr*, oti — 
Hull from your plains v.iih the might of your 

sword \ 

Backward the P».uss and the Cossac of D617, 



St 



ODE ON THE ^5 

EMANCIPATION ofS. AMERICA. 

STAR of the Southern pole- 
That from the Atlantic deep 
K.ose, and on Andes' steep 
IShone with a beacon-light, 
And woke from raoral night 
rhe Spaniard's haughty soul.— 
They started from their sleep, and tore 
The chains that bound them to their tyrant -s 

throne : 
Uncheer'd, unaided, they alone 
Their banner rear'd on Plata's shore, 
And in the dawning light of Liberty 
Swore they would live and die united} firm an*^ 

free. 

Where rising o'er the silver tide, 
That rolls its host of waters wide, 
■Lesistless as a sea, 
i'air shine their city's happy walls ; 
Conven'd within the sacred halJs 
Of infant Liberty, 

They banded round their flag, and gave 
Redemption to the fetter'd slave, 
And o'er those plains like ocean spread, 
And o'er their mountains' icy head, 
?»nd o'er their full majestic river, 
And thro' their halls, their fanes, their towVs, 
'i'hey lit a flame, shall burn forever, 
Nor tyranny with all her pow'rs. 
Though battled in her holy league^ shall dare 
The statue they have rear'd froai its high co- 
\uwxi tear. 



33 

Srster in freedom '. o'er the main 
We send our hearts to thee ; 
, O ! ne'er may kings and priests again 
Stain with their steps thy flowery plain, 
Nor vex the brave and free. 
When earth beside was wrtppM in night. 
Here freedom lit her quenchless light, 
And hence its rays shall always beam, 
And Europe yet shall hear the voice, 
And wake from her inglorious dream, 
And in her new-found strength rejoice. 
Ta one fraternal band, let all 
The Nations, who would spurn the chains 
That tyrants forge, would burst their thralL 
And wash away their servile stains, 
And, proud of independent worth, 
Jn honest dignity go forth ; 
Let all, who will not bow the knee, 
Nor humbly kiss the trampling heel, 
Who swear to perish or be free, 
•Unite, and draw their flashing steel. 
And proud and daring in their second birth 
Purge from its crowns and thrones the renovat- 
ed Earth. 



ODE ON THE 25 

EMANCIPATION OF GREECE, 

6^5yT« TTstiha- ruiv 'E.K\»vcov. Greek War Sons:, 

O'ER Greece a dawn is rising; 
The clouds, that shroud her, break away • 
Again, behold ! the immortal day. 
When Persia's hosts chastising, 
Tn Marathon's unequal fight, 
The demigcua of old arose, 
D 



34 

And, manllcd io the patrioi's mighi". 
Drove back in shame their myriad foes, 
And crownM their brows with civic wreaths of 
light. 

That daj' shall never perish — 
The grass grows green above their graves ^ 
But liberty will cherish 
The turf for ages trod by slaves. 
She sounds her trumpet — " Greeks ! arise, 
Be men once more ; oh ! let the hallow''d streaiQj 
Ihat flows to you from Lacedacmon, glow 
"With new wak'd ardour; let the beam 
Of independence purge your eyes. 
And waking from your long, long dream 
Of prostrate thraldom, front the skies. 
And bear with onward breast against your, 
tyrant foe." 

She stands on mangled Parthenon~=- 

And in her rais'd, commanding hand 

jfhe waves aloft her thirsty brand, 

And points to fields, your hatdy parents won ; 

When not a foe dar'd touch their land, 

"Who fled not, cloth'd with blood and shame : 

O! what a pure unmingled llame 

Of high, enduring, jealous freedom shone 

Io hearts of stern, but fine-wrought mould; 

Hearts, that spurned at power and gold, 

And scorn'd the proudest monarch on his throne. 

^Iho' few they shrunk not when the prowlers 

came 
fn countless swarms, like locusts, to devour 
Their harvests, and destroy their name, 
And o^er their much-lov'd country showV 
B-lood and havoc, tears and flame : 
Yes, in that dark and awful hour, 
^Vhen Xerxes, with his ravening host. 
Hung, threatening vengeance, on their coas^. 



Ko eye was dim, no cheek was palo ; 

Their blood was up, tbeir hearts were glowing. 

And, like a storm-fed torrent flowing 

With foam and fury through the echoing vale, 

From their rude battlements of rocks thej 

rush'd, 
And with their giant tread the awe-struck Per- 
sian crush'd. 

Greeks! arise, be free, 

Arm for liberty ; 
Men of Sparta I hear the call, 
Who could never bear the thrall 
Of coward Frank, or savage Turk ; , 
From those mountains, where you lurk3 
Send the voice of freedom forth, 
Spread it through the fetterM north, 
And from Morea tear her funeral pal'. 
Now the nations are waking 
From slavery's night, 
Their manacles breaking, 
They haste to the fight, 
Where tyrants shall make their last stand fu: 

their thrones : 
O I by your stripes, yotir tears, ycur groans, 
Now gird your loins with vengeance, let the tire 
Of high achievement heart and soul inspire ; 
Be nerv'd to die or conquer, fixM to fall. 
Like Sparta's sacred band before the wall, 
Which stood a bulwark to the invading swarm ; 
O 1 be your hearts thus bold, thus warm, 
Devoted to your country's cause, 
Be there no stay, no rest, no pau^e ; 
Once more the sun of liberty shall pour 
Its brightest s lories on the iE^ean shore- 



36 
SONNET TO ITALY. 25 

From the Italian of Vinccnzo da Filicaia, 

iTAUA! O Italia! whom the hand 
Of Heaven array'd in beauty, fatal dowV — 
JFor which unnumber'd wrongs afllict thy land) 
And on thy furrowM brow the wasting pow'r 
Ha8 stannp'd his burning characters of shame i 
Less sweet and fair, but more robust and brave, 
Thou hadst not been of Lords the lovely slave, 
Who seek thee with an all-devouring flame, 
Pouring their blood in strife, and wasting thine. 
O ! wert thou braver and less fair, no more 
Should I beiiold the armed torrents roar 
Down those tall Alps, where snows eternal shine ;, 
I^or see again those tireless hounds of war, 
The French, their limbs with battle heated, lave 
In To or Lodi's gore-impurpled wave ; 
Nor see thee, chain'd to some proud nation's car, 
And girt with foreign armour, idly brave. 
Beneath the Gaul or Gothic despot's star^ 
Forever conqueror, or conquer'd, slave. 

I acknowlcJge 1 have not given tlie fine image exprcsi- 
^d in the seventh and eighth lines of the original. I have 
,?;iven tliem another turn. I refer to tijose struggles in 
»vhich Italy has been the pri^je of contending nations, 
yince the downfall of tlie Roman Empire, she has never 
made an energetic resistance to her invaders. Her bloodi- 
est wars have been those in which she hac torn her own vi- 
tals, or in which oti-.er nations have foii^'lit tojiethcr for her 
possession. In t!icsc conflicts she has stood lilce Virgil's hdf- 
er, and she has truly found the passion of her lovers selfisli 
and inhuman. Th.e work is not yet ended and never will 
be, till the spirit of Brutus thiilUwake and cril'.inilh I.e.- 
.I'^w degrade! population. 



'fAl'M^M© 



^^ 



AN ODE 20 

Supposed to have been snug at J^iagara FallSj 
on an Anniversary oj our Independence. 

L 

O'ER the blue swelling sky with a heavenly ray 
The sun shines serene on this glorious day, 
And the flajj of Columbia waves o'er the 

steep, 
Where Niagara pours all its floods in the deep. 

II. 

Let the roar of the cannon — the blast of the 

horn. 
Usher in with their wild notes this glorious morn : 
Let the toast of v/arm hearts be drank round to 

the brave, 
Who defended our flag on Ontario's wave. 

III. 

Let England exult in the fire of her tar^, 

We can boast braver souls 'neath the blaze of 

our stars ; 
Hearts that glow, when the cannon resoundin; 

afar 
Cives the si-'nal of battle, the larum of war. 
l)Z 



38 

IV. 

On the billow of ocean to glory they sail, 
While the stars proudly float on the wild blow- 
ing gale, 
And a halo encircles the brow of the brave, 
When to triumph they march on Ontario's wave. 

V. 

Let the cannon resound — let the trumpet be 

blown ; 
For the demon of war o'er the ocean has flown, 
And Peace with her olive wreath honours the 

brave, 
Who fought for their homes on Ontario's wave, 

VI. 

Let the banner of blood on the wind be unfurl'd, 
And the tempest of discord o'ershaddw the 

world ; 
Let Peace with her angel of Mercy be fled, 
And Murder exult in the groans of the dead ; 

VII. 

When the trumpet and drum give the signal of 

war, 
The spirit of freedom shall kindle her star — 
Bhall clothe with her mantle of glory the brave. 
Or rock them to rest on Ontario's wave. 

VIH. 

The}' shall march to her foes by her beacon's 

red light, 
And conquer or die in the glorious fight, 
And Honour shall dig for the sailor a grave. 
Or lisht biiB to fame on Ontario's wave. 



39 

IX. 

Theneyultin the day, when our nation was born;. 
Raise the shout of delight — wind the blast of the 

horn — 
Peal the roll of the drum — let the cannon's loud 

roar 



X. 

Should Britain in?ult us — our Eagle shall fly, 
Encircled with stars, on our flag through the sky; 
From the mouth of the cannon, the free and the 

brave 
Shall reply to our foes on Ontario's wave. 



THE BATTLE of N. ORLEANS, 
Jan. 7 — Evening. , 20 

'TWAS gone, the latest gleam of day ; 
Beneath the star of evening's ray, 
In deep repose the Britons lay 
By Mississippi silently. 

Hush'd v/as the soldier's busy hum, 
Still were the trumpet and the drum. 
Each pacing sentinel was dumb. 

Or gave his watchword cheerily. 

Slow from the stream the fog arose. 
And gently, as the rivrr flows, 
Stretch'd o'er Columbia's slumbering foesj 
Its murky mantie gloomily. 

The breeze, that scarcely seem'd to breathe, 
Or wave the vapours curling wreath. 



40 

Swept o''er the forms that slept beneath, 
And sigh'd around them mournfully. 

Th6 clock that toll'd the silent hour, 
In yonder city's spiry tower, 
Echoed in Pack'nara's tented bow'r, . 
And rung his death knell solemnly. 

The distant tramping, faint and low, 
Warn'd Pack'nara of the coming foe ; 
He bade each Briton meet the blow, 
And front the danger manfully. 

Why starts the soldier from his bed ? ^ 

His dream of fancied bliss is fled, 
The red cross waves above his head, 
To meet th^ star of liberty. 

To horse — to horse — ^the Britons leap ; 
Wild as the roaring of the deep, 
Along the plain our squadrons sweep, 
Columbia's gallant chivalry. 

Jackson, the lion chief, is there, 
And Coffee cheers his troops to war, 
Beneath Columbia's silver star 
Shouting for death or victory. 

Wild as the rushing of the flood, 
Hoarse as the roaring of the wood. 
They meet, and dye their swords in blood ; 
They meet and charge for liberty. 

" Stand, Britons ! stand unmovM the shock, 
Firm as Gibraltar's spiry rock, 
Firm as the oak the whirlwinds rock ; 
I think of Spain and victory." 

*' Columbia's heroes ! charge the foe- 
Lay all their towering honours low— 



41 

Tell them how hard the freeman's blow ; 
O! think of home and liberty.'* 

^ach Briton'rears his haughty crest ; 
Burns every freeman's throbbing breast, 
His madd'ning pulses know no rest, 

Till heav'n shall crown his gallantly. 

The bullet sings, wide streams the gore, 
Re-echoes Mississippi's shore, 
The sabres clang, the cannon*s roar, 
The shout for death or victory. 

Long roars the gun, long rings the blade, 
And 'nealh the death-cloud's gloomy shad; 
Columbia's heroes, undismay'd, 

Still shout, still charge, for liberty. 

Hush'd is the din, the fight is o'er. 
Still is the cannon's awful roar, 
And Mississippi's silent shore 
Echoes no more to victory. 

Long shall the Briton rue this night, 
Sad herald of the morrow's fight, 
When England's Lion turn'd in flight, 
Scar'd by the Eaglets glaring eye- 

I^e'er shall the tyrant and the slave 
Molest again the free and brave, 
Nor meet on Mississippi's wave 

^.Vith those, who iifht for liberty 



42- 



THE DEATH OF LAWRENCE. 

I. 20 

EVENING has clos'd o'er the wave of the ocean, 
Peace has return'd to the sailor again, 
Hush'd is the din of the battle's conQmotion, 
Nothing is heard but the roar of the main ; 
Far as the eager eye, through the dark shade 

can spy — 
Nothing is seen but the foam of the wave ; 
While the loud tempests sweep — wild o'er the 

heaving deep, 
Ploughing the breast of bold Lawrence's grave, 

ir. 

What is that steals on my listening ear? 
Oh 'tis the accent of mourning and woe, 
Grief — for the loss of a leader so dear — 
Grief — for (he death of a generous foe : 
Now bleeds each sailors heart — wounded bj 

sorrow's dart, 
Tears flow in torrents for Lawrence (he bold, 
Oh we shall ne'er — they cry — see his fire-flash= 

ing eye, 
When on his country's foes fiercely it roH'd. 

in. 

Oh ! what a sight, on that glorious morning, 
Glauc'd our bold ship o'er the billowy wave ; 
Freedom and valour its banner adorning, 
Victory cheering the heart? of (he brave : 
Glitter'd the sailor's eye — throbb'd his rough bo= 

som high, 
Wliile the starr'd flag floated wide on the wind ; 
Bright glow'd the Heroes soul — proudly his 

glance did roll, 
Fix'd were his features and nobly resign'd.- - 



43 

IV. 

bee on the distant main swiftly advancing, 
Albion^s sons spread their banner afar ; 
Light on the crest of the foamy wave dancing, 
See Ihcy unfurl the red ensign of war: 
Mark'd you the hero's eye — bright as the noon- 
tide sky, 
Stern as the frown that the rous'd lion wears, 
When like the whirlwind's rage — fiercely the 

foes engage ; 
Mingling in battle, the cross and the stars. 

V. 

Loud swell'd the cannon's roar o'er the wide 

ocean, 
Lash'd by the prow, heav'd the crimson-dy'd 

foam ; 
Wild was the din of the battle's commotion, 
While many a soul sought its long latent home ; 
Bright glar'd the fatal ilame^death wing'd the 

bullet came, 
Full on our leader it darted its blow ; 
Then each tar heav'd a sigh — tears gush'd from 

every eye — 
Lawrence is wounded, our hero is low. 

Vi. 

Mark, from his breast how bis life-blood is 

streaming, 
Mark, how his eye-balls in agony roll ; 
Still through that mist valour's spirit is beaming', 
Still his last words speak the fire of his soul : 
*' Rear up the Eagle high — point it unto the skyj 
There let it soar while the bloody fisht raves, 
There let its wings outspread — flixp o'er the 

mighty dead, 
Till it shall plunge in the fathomless waves." 



44 
VII. 

Long shall his spirit illumine our s!ars, 
Long as our flag on the tempest shall % ; 
Long as our Eagle the thunderbolt bears, 
It shall soar on its pinions and flash in its eye : 
When on the stormy main— venture our ships 

again, 
Then shall his valour our bosoms inspire ; 
When we the broadsides pour — and war's 

dread thunders roar, 
.awrence shall lead like a pillar' of fire. 



PERRY'S VICTORY 

ON LAKE ERIE. 20 

BRIGHT was the morn — the waveless bay 
Shone like a mirror to the sun ; 
^Mid greenwood shades and meadows gay, 
The matin birds their lays begun : 
While swelling o'er the gloomy wood 
Was heard the faintly echoed roar— ■ 
The dashing of the foamy flood, 
That beat on Erie's distant shore. 

The tawny wanderer of the wild 
Taddied his painted birch canoe, 
And, where the wave serenely smil'dj 
Swift as the darling falcon, flew ; 
He row'd along that peaceful bay, 
And glanc'd its poli^h'd surface o'er, 
Listening the biilow far away, 
That rolPd on Erie's lonely shore. 

What sounds awake my slumbering car— • 
What echoes o'er the waters come ? 
It is the morning gun I hear, 
The rolling of the distant drum. 



45 

Far o'er the bright illumin'd wave 

I mark the flash— -I hear the roar, 

That calls from sleep the slumbering brave^ 

To fight on Erie's lonely shore. 

'See how the starry banner floats, 
And sparkles in the morning ray; 
While sweetly swell the fife's gay notes 
In echoes o*er the gleaming bay : 
Flash follows flash, as through yon fleet, 
Columbia's cannons loudly roar, 
And valiant tars the battle greet, 
That storms on Erie's echoing shore. 

Oh ! who can fell what deeds were done, 
When Britain's cross, on yonder wave, 
Sunk 'neath Cohimbia's dazzling sun, 
And met in Erie's flood its grave : 
Who tell the triumphs of that day, 
When, smiling at the cannon's roar, 
Our Hero, 'mid tlie bloody fray, 
Conquer'd on Erie's echoing shore I 

Though many a wounded bosom bleeds. 
For sire, for son, for lover dear, 
Yet sorrow smiles amid her weeds — 
Affliction dries her tender tear ; 
Oh ! she exclaims, with glowing pride— 
With ardent thoughts that wildly soar, 
My sire, ray son, my lover died 
Conquering on Erie's bloody shore I 

Long shall my country bless that day, 
When soar'd our Eagle to the skies; 
Long, long in triumph's bright array, 
That Victory shall proudly rise: 
And when our country's lights are gone, 
And all ifs proudest days are o'er, 
How will her fading courage dawn, 
To think on Erie's bloody shore I 



4»b 



A TRIBUTE TO the BRAVE. 20 

THOUGH furl'd be the banner of blood on the 

plain, 
And rusted the sabre once crimson'd with gore ; 
Though hushM be the ravens that croak'd o'er 

the slain, 
And calm'd into silence the battle's loud roar ; 

Though Peace with her rosy smile gladden the 

vales, 
And commerce unshackled dance over the wave; 
Though music and song may enliven the gales, 
And Joy crown with roses and myrtle the 

brave; 

Like spirits that start from the sleep of the dead, 
Our heroes shall rouse — when the larum shall 

blow ; 
Then Freedom's broad flag on the wind shall 

be spread , 
And Valour's sword flash in the face of the foe. 

Our Eagle shall rise 'mid the whirlwinds of war, 
And dart through the dun-cloud of battle his 

eye — 
Shall spread his wide wings on the tempest afar 
O'er spirits of valour that conquer or die. 

And ne'er shall the rage of the conflict be o'er, 
And ne'er shall the warm blood of life cease to 

flow, 
And still 'mid the smoke of the battle shall soar 
Our Eagle — till scattered and fled be the foe. 



47 

WI«n peace shall disarm war's dark brow of 

its frown, 
And roses shall bloom on the soldier^s rude 

grave — 
Then Honour shall weave of the laurel a crown, 
That Beauty shall bind on the brow of the 

brave. 



BV the Spirits of the dead, 
Who sunk to death in Erie's wave—= 
By the hearts that nobly bled — 
By the free unconquer'd brave — 

We will draw the freeman's sword, 
When the Briton threats our shore; 
Mingle freedom's battle-word 
Proudly with the cannon's roar. 

W^e have fac'd, will face again 
Death and slaughter — shall we fly ^ 
Shall we leave the tented plain- 
Leave it, when the foe is nigh ? 

Come invader — here we stand, 
On the border of the wave ; 
Ere thou touch our native land, 
Thou shalt lay us in the grave. 

Here we stand and here we die- 
Bring thy ships — thy rockets bring-—' 
Here our nation's flag shall fly, 
Here shall wave our Eagle's wing. 

Range in battle-line thy fleet — 
Ravage— ^burn — destroy — but know. 
Though we perish, thou shalt meet- 
Meet in every form a foe* 



21 



48 

Sons of freedom — seize the gun, 
I-evel well the marksman's eye, 
Tell them how the deed is done, 
Tell how sure our bullets fly. 

Draw a sword, (he brave may wield, 
Draw it, when the Britons come, 
" Hurr}^, hurry to the field," 
With the fife and rolling drum. 

"Point thy cannons on the foe, 
Bid their lightnins;? fiash afar, 
Far and wide his thousands strow 
With thy thunderbolts of war. 

Mingle boldly in the fray, 
Shrink not at the sightof blood, 
I'hink how, on his fatal day, 
Firm, undaunted, Lawrence stood. 

See ! his spirit strides the wave, 
Calls you where he nobly fell — 
"i'ictory's summons to the bravt, 
To the foe his funeral knell. 

By that soul of ardent fiame, 
By that soul that could not yield. 
Hurry to (he field of fame — 
Hurry to the battle-fieid. 



ODE TO THE 

MEMORY OF PERRY. 

WITH brow serene a form advanced, 
His lofty eye was fix'd on heaven, 
'i'o him the strength of soul was given, 
A frown on vice he sternly glancM ; 



4Q 

His purpose firm, his bosom clear- 
He could not stoop, he could not fear ; 
With giant step he trod the ground, 
The living waves roli'd back, and ga\ie 
An honourable space around ; 
Such soul-subduing pow'r attends the virtuous 
Amid the deaf'ning roar of war, [brave. 

Or mad Sedition's thundering shock, 
The Senate's brawl, the forum's jar, 
He stands an intellectual rock : 
In vain the storms of party rage 
Against his moveless form engage, 
In vain the torrent rushes by, — 
He views the chafing flood with firm, undaunted 
eye. 

At once he rose in dazzling light — 
No deed of arms had grac'd his shield, 
Nor proudly bore its argent field 
The story of victorious fight: 
He burst a sun upon the world ; 
He stood his country's brazen wall, 
Her bolt with conquering arm he hurl'd. 
And springing at her sacred call 
Through death and danger fearless rush'd ; 
His hand was nerv'd, his heart inspir'd. 
By valour's fire his soul was flush'd, 
Nor stop'd he till his foe retir'd, 
Their rage subdued, their thunders hush'd ; 
Then in a youthful victor's might he trod. 
And own'd no sovereign but his land and God, 

A nation's dawning light has fied ; 
Beyond the ocean's purple wave 
He coldly sleeps among the dead, 
Without a stone to deck his grave ; 
Cut ofi'in honour's early bloom, 
When life was young and spirits high. 
He sank in silence to the tombj 

E 



50 

Forbid in valour's field to die ; 
Pale sickness o'er him spread her gloomj 
i\nd he who, in the mortal strife, 
Where nation's toil for death or life, 
Had better wing'd his heavenward flight, 
Who should have slept on glory's bed, 
In sorrow quench'd his new-dawn'd light, 
And feebly mingled M'ith the dead. 
O 1 had he met on Erie's wave 
The glorious death he nobly sought, 
That death by matchless valour bought— 
A Hero generous, as brave — 
We then had borne him to his tomb 
With all the tenderness of grief. 
And wept with honest pride his doom. 
And hail'd him as our darling chief, . 

^ The sailor asks no sweeter grave, 
Than ocean's gore-impurpled wave ; 
His life is in his country's hand, 
And where she calls he loves to fly, 
In battle's shock unmov'd to stand, 
In battle's carnage fearless die ; 
He sees the light of fame aspire 
And kindle, as the dun clouds roll, 
Its quenchless pyramid of fire — 
He sees and hurries to the goal ; 
And while the voice of conflict roars 
His ardent spirit springs and soars ; 
By glory's breath his soul is driven, 
He walks on earth, but lives in heaveoj 
And as the mounting arrow flew 
Along the lofty fields of blue, 
Ascending still he onward flies 
And dies in flame amid the skies. 
How few attain that envied height, 
Where all is cloudless, pure and bright ; 
How few the souls that never stoop, 
How few the hearts that never droop. 



51 

Who always fix their eye on fame, 
Their only wealth their mighty name, 
Their only boast to do the deed, 
That all may love, but none decry, 
In freedom's holy cause to bleed. 
Where Glory calls to rush and die. 
Glory is not the blasting flame, 
That burns around a Csesar's head, 
Beneath the golden wreath of fame 
None but the wise and good may tread ; 
The hand must toil, the foot must strive, 
No selfish feeling stain the breast, 
No passion wild-careering drive 
The soui, that longs for Glory's rest. 
Sweet after labour comes repose. 
And he who toils through life can die, 
His long career of honour close, 
With brow unruffled, tearless eye : 
He knows, though envy blot his name. 
When time has swept those clouds away 
That o'er the purest light will stray, 
No shade can dim his sun of fame : 
How sweet the calm that fills his breast, 
When, after years of generous strife, 
He sinks, by every bosom blest, 
And bursts from pain to light and life ; 
Around his brow the beams of Glory play, 
And o'er him settles heav'n's eternal day. 



®i^ffM¥mAiiii©< 



FILL (he cup for me, 

Fill the cup of Pleasure ; 

Wake the fairy lyre 

To its wildest measure. 

Melancholy's gloom 

Now is stealing on me, 

But the cup and lyre 

Can chase the demon from me. 
Fill the cup for me, 
Fill the cup of Pleasure ; 
Wake the fairy lyre 
To its wildest measure, 

in the shades of night, 
When every eye is closing, 
On the moonlight bank 
All in peace reposing ; 
There is nought so sweet, 
As the cup of Pleasure, 
And the lyre that breathes 
la its wildest measure. 
Fill the cup, &c. 

This the smiling star, 

That guides me o'er life's ocean : 

This the heav'nly light, 

Tfiat wakes my heart's devotion 



53r 

-Tis when Beauty's smile 
Gives the cup of Pleasure, 
And awakes the lyre 
To its wildest measure. 

Fill the cup, &c. 

If the fiend of sorrow 
With his gloom affright thee, 
There may come to-morrow 
One who will delight thee : 
'Tis the fair, whose smile 
Beams with sweetest pleasure, 
And whose hand awakes 
The lyre's delightful measure. 
Fill the cup, &c. 

Form of Beauty ! bind 
Pleasure's wreath of rosea 
Round this brow of mine, 
Where every joy reposes : 
Yes — my heart can bound 
To mirth's enlivening measure, 
When the lyre i3 tun'd, 
And smiles the cup of Pleasure. 
Fill the cup, &c. 

Drive dull Care away — 

Why should gloom depress thee 

Life may frown to-day, 

But Joy will soon caress thee. 

While there's time, my friend, 

Drink the cup of Pleasure, 

And awake the lyre 

To its wildest measure. 

Fill the cup for me, 
Fill the cup of Pleasure, 
Wake the fairy lyre 
To its wildest measure. 



64 



BALMY juice of rich Madeira- 
How thy amber bubbles shine, 
How thy fragrance charms tlie wary, 
Soothing like a song divine. 

When thy nectar gaily flushes, 
And thy hues the goblet stain, 
How the mounting spirit rushes 
Xightly through the dancing brain. 

Every scene of sadness brightens, 
All is rob'd in vestment fair, 
How the cloud of sorrow lightens. 
As we sip, and banish care. 

Now the patriot bosom throbbing 
Swells to deeds of- high renown, 
And the lover ceases sobbing, 
Though beneath his mistress' frown. 

JS"ow, his eye with frenzy rolling, 
How the poet sweeps his lyre, 
While DO hand his fire controlling 
Madness thunders o^er his wire. 

iir'd by thee he grasps the lightning, 
Hurls it fiercely through the air, 
Aad a wreath of glory brightning 
Flames around his waving hair. 

When my fancy faintly drooping 
Loses all its fire divine, 
Let me o'er thy fountain stooping 
Qiiaif (he richly mantling wine. 



^iO 



55 



25 



THEY may (ell me— the sages who soberly 

think, 
That water was all that sire Adam would drink ; 
They may tell of the calm philosophical brain 
In those who from all that is kindling refrain, — 
What serene, energetic and strait-forward 

thought, 
By living as Nature would have us, is bought — 
They may keep their cool reason who like it- 
be mine 
A fancy that glows in a bumper of wine. — 

Our llxe was not made to flow on like a stream 
In the low lands of Holland ; the soul's bright- 
est beam 
Will die' without feeding, as lamps without oil, 
And something reviving must water the soil. 
The dew may enliven the flow'rs of the spring. 
And a sprinkling of rain make the nightingale 

sing; 
But the heart cannot glow, and the eye cannot. 

shine, 
Nor the tongue roll unless in a bumper of wine. 

Bright nectar that foam'd in the goblet of Jovei 
Thou quick'ner of fancy and kindler of love! 
By thee Heroes rush without dread to the fight. 
And cheer the long watch through a cold frosty- 
night : 
When the orator seeks inspiration from thee, 
His words how commanding, expressive andl 

free ! 
And ev'n the poor poet seems doubly divine, 
When he fills from Ca&talia a bumper of wine^ ■ 



56 

'Thy ruby-cheek'd face is the idol for me— 
But the tenderer vessels hold nothing but tea, 
And that warm cloudy spirit so wakens their 

prattle, 
Their non-chalant flippancy flows tittle-tattle : 
Though hyson can call forth such lightness of 

heart, 
Vv here the voluble tongue plays unshackled by 

art, ^ 
Vet their wit and their fancy are wondrously fine, 
XVhen by chance they have sip'd of a bumper 

of wine. 

Then be mine in the storms and the winter of 
life, 

And fill up the place of friends, children and 
wife ; 

Be thou born on the orange-clad mountains of 
Spain, 

OrnursM in the green sparkling fields of Cham- 
paign, 

In sea-girt Madeira, or sunny Tokay, 

Or where Italy laughs all enlivened and gay — 

7vlay my last smile at parting" complacently 
shine, 

like the sun on t!}e waves In a bumper of wine. 



lA^mABi 



20 

\ few years since, a small lake in a wildly romantic situa- 
tion in the northern part of Vermont, was unfortunate-' 
ly drained by the bursting of one of the banks that 
confined it.— The following stanzas are intended for Sir 
description of that event. 

\ Lake once lay, where the thunder clouds sail, 

On the lofty mountain's breast, 

Whose ripple, when rais'd by the rustling gaie^ 

Was so gentle, it seem'd at rest ; 

The pine wav'd round, and the dark cliff 

frown'd. 
Their shadow was gloomy as night ; 
But when the sun shone, on his noon-day throne. 
The lake seem'd a mirror of light. 
There the red-finn'd trout like a flash darted by, 
And the pickerell mov'd like the glance of aa 

eye. 

When the wind breathed soft at the dawning of 

^ <^ay. 

When the morning-birds warbled around, 

And the rainbow shone on the scarce seen spray; 

No lovelier place could be found : 

Oh! this scene was as dear to mine eye and 

mine ear, 
As the glance and the song of my love, 

F 



58 

And the lake was as bright, and as pure to the 

sight, 
As the bosom of angels above : 
The surface ilash'd with a golden glow, 
And a fore&t of verdure seem'd waving below. 

The year roll'd away, and I saw it no more 

Till the spring bloom'd sweetly again, 

Till the birch first unfolded its leaves on the 

shore, 
And the robin first warbled its strain : 
But no lake snaiPd there, with its bosona fair, 
'Twas a dell all with bushes overgrown, 
From my dream of delight, like a sleeper at 

night, 
T awoke and I found me alone. 
Through the vale it had burst with the swiftness 

of wind. 
And left but a path of destruction behind. 

The leaves were all dead on the wave-loving 

wiiiow, 
Jt whispered no more in the wind ; 
ISfo moon-beam slept on the water's soft pillow, 
Or smii'd like the tranquillized mind ; 
The flow'r-bush there was the foxes lair, 
And the whippoorwiil sung all alone, 
Where the moonbeams pale, glancing through 

the vale, 
Just gleam'd on the moss-gray stone. 
"Where the trout once darted, the adder crept. 
And the rattlesnake coil'd, where the Naiad 

wept. 

By the moon's chill light, the white pebble shone 
On the beach, where the wave once roll'd, 
And the lustre gleam'd on the water-worn stone, 
But told to the eye it was cold : 
1>?o rippling wave that beach shall lave. 



59 

No white foam shall toss on that shore, 

And the billow's flash, and its scarce heard dash. 

Shall be known in that valley no more. 

For the wave, shall be heard the serpent's breath, 

For the dash of the billow, the hiss of death. 

Where the foam once sparkled, the cedar-bush 

wav'd, 
And the reed rustled sweet in the gale ; 
And the rock that the water so silently lavM 
Was hid by the gray lichen's veil ; 
There the dark fern flings on the night-winds 

wings 
Its leaves like the dancing feather, 
And the whippoorwilPs note seem'd gently to 

float 
Erom the deep purple bloom of the heather. 
Where the surface glitter'd, the weed grew wild, 
And the flow'r blossom'd sweet, where the wave 

once smii'd. 

So when life first dawns on the infant soul, 
'Tis as pure as the lake's clear wave ; 
Not a passion is there but can brook controul, 
Not a thought that is pleasure's slave : 
But youth comes on, and this purity's gone, 
Fair Innocence smiles there no more, 
And cold is the guest, that lives in that breast, 
As the stone on this desolate shore; 
A poison floats in its balmiest breath, 
And where the flow'r smiles is the serpent of 
death. 



60 
LOCH MAREE. 20 

'SVOULDST thou a scene of quiet view, 
When all is gemm'd in evening dew — 
V/hen the fair planet's silver blaze 
On some lone water sweetly plays—- 
When every twinkling star of night 
Shines in the sky serenely bright, 
And on the rock, the wave, the tower, 
And on the lover's secret bower, 
Peace furls her pinions on her breast, 
And calls the weary world to rest — 
When not a breath of wind is waking. 
And not an aspen leaf is shaking — 
When not a ripple beats the shore, 
And faintly swells the torrent's roar 

In yonder mountain vale — 
When on the cliff the wild duck broods, 
And slumbers o'er the marble floods, 

Rock'd bj' the dying gale — 
When far around, in dewy bush 
And quiet grove, the minstrel thrush 

Reposes silently — 
Go, at the hour of evening pale, 
'Qo<, wander through the lonely vale, 

And view by moonlight Loch MareCa 

The western wind is gently blowins^, 
The rising tide is softly flowing, 
Its billow heaves along the shore 
With rippling dash and solemn roar ; 
'i'he screaming gull has gone to rest, 
The puffin seeks her cavern'd nest, 
On curving wing the ospray soars, 
WT.ere on the rocks the breaker ptiurs, 
And dashing 'mid the foamy brine, 
His plumes with dewy lustre shine. 



61 

Descending on the ocean blue 
Trickles from melting clouds the dew i 
The sun, that late with crimson vest 
Glow'd on the billow's golden breast. 
No longer meets the gazing eye, 
Nor stains the ruddy evening sky; 
For sunk in Thetis' saffron bed, 
Each gleam of parting day has fled. 

The abbey bell is slowly ringing, 
The nun her vesper hymn is singing, 
The notes resounding o'er the bay, 
Now sweetly swell, now die away : 
Seems, as the winding shores prolong 
The melody of sacred song, 
An angel's harp had caught the straia. 
And gave it to the distant main ; 
Such sounds in mellow echoes roll, 
And wind their way into the soul. 

'Tis night, but o'er the peaceful bay 
The rising moon's unsullied ray 
Shines on its pure unruffled breast, 
Where every wave is smooth'd to rest. 
Beneath her light, the billows flow 
"With quiet dash and mellow gl6w, 
And far around, the waveless main 
Seems spreading like a glassy plain ; 
On distant rocks the mermaid weeps, 
While round her form the sturgeon leaps, 
And long she listens on the shore 
The ocean's faintly echoed roar ; 
The sea-dogs, dashing through the foam, 
In sportive gambols wildly roam. 
And, rising lightly o'er the brine, 
Their skins like polish'd marble shine. 

F2 



62 

Now up the brook, that gently flows, 
The moon in beana of silver glows, 
And through the vale, from lake to bay, 
Winds like a stream of light away ; 
And where the brook with ceaseless brawl 
Tumbles along the sloping fall, 
With light all trembling and uneven 
It twinkles like the stars of heaven : 
But as you scale the mountain high, 
What scene of beauty meets the eye 1 
Stretch'd through the vale a sheet of light-— 
It bursts upon the startling sight. 
And back reflects the queen of night, 
Whose silver image, far below. 
Seems like a gliding orb of snow, 
So pure, so lovely o'er the billow- 
It sleeps as on a watery pillow : 
Around, above, beiow, in streams 
Of mellow radiance flow the beams, 
That silver o'er the sky, and shed 
Their rays on ocean's sandy bed ; 
They shine on wood and lofty hall, 
They glitter on (he castle wall, 

And tremble waveringly. 
Where, sitting in her lonely bower, 
In sorrow spends the moonlight hour 

The maid of Loch Maree. 

The glassy wave, the sandy shore, 
The rock with lichen cover'd o'er, 
The cliff" that frowns, the wave that smiles, 
The gloomy firs, the willowy isles, 
The castle on the dizzy steep, 
Whose lamps their lonely vigils keep, 
In such repose are sunk, they seem 
The fancy of a poet's dream — 
So fair, so peaceful, one might say 
It wa? a paradise that lay 
So far and deep below-— 



63 

Some sweet Utopian scene of pleasure, 
"NVhere angels dance in lightest measure. 

And seraph-warblings flow — 
Or fairy land, where sylphs might lave 
Their forms of beauty in the wave, 
And sport upon the balmy wind, 
To love and happiness resigned. 
Go, range the world from pole to pole, 
Go, where Arcadia's streamlets roll. 

And Tempers waters play — 
Go, scale Parnassus' flowery steep, 
Go, where Castalia's muses weep 

The mournful hours away — 
Go, view each scene of loveliness, 
And tell, if thou canst ever grace 

A scene so fair and gay. 



THE MERMAID. 20 

I. 

THE waning moonlook'd cold and pale, 
Just rising o'er the eastern|wave. 
And faintly moan'd the evening gale, 
That swept along the gloomy cave : 
The waves that wildly rose and fell, 
On all the rocks the white foam flung, 
And like the distant funeral knell, 
Within her grot the Mermaid sung, 

II. 

It was a strain of witchery 
So sweet, yet mournful to my ear, 
It lit the smile, it wak'd the sigh. 
Then started pity's pearly tear ; 
There v/as a ruffle in my breast, 



64 

It was not joy, it was Dot pain, 
■^Twas wild as yonder billow's crest. 
That tosses o'er the heaving main. 

III. 

Along the wave the moon's cold light. 
With trembling radiance feebly shone ; 
A lustre neither faint nor bright 
Sparkled on }'onder wat'rj stone: 
There, seated on her sea-beat throne, 
The Mermaid ey'd the dashing wave, 
Then wak'd her wild harp's melting tone. 
And breath'd the music of the grave. 

IVo 

Her silken tresses all unbound 

P.'ay'd loosely on the evening gale, 

She cast a mournful look around, 

Then sweetly woke her wild harp's Avail; 

And, as her marble fingers flew 

Along the chords, such piusicflow'd — 

Her cheek assum'd a varied hue. 

Where grief grew pale — where pleasure glow'd> 

y. 

The sound rose sweetly on the wind, 
It was a strain of melancholy — 
It sooth'd each tumult of the mipd, 
And hush'd the wildest laugh of folly. . 
It ilov/M so softly o'er the main, **.■"' 
And spread so calmly, widely 'round ; 
The air seem'd living with the strain, 
And every zephyr breath'd the sound. 

VI. 

The seal, that sported on the. shore. 
His gambols ceas'd, and prick'd his ear. 
He heeded not the billow's roar — 
That strain was all he seemM to hear* 



65 

As through the surf the dolphins flew, 
They stopp'd and playM around her throne^ 
It seem'd, Arion woke anew 
His harp to some celeetial tone. 

VIL 

With what a thrilling extacy 

I heard the music of her lyre ; 

The very soul of melody 

Seem'd warbling on the trembling wire : v 

Oh never o'er her infant dear 

The mother half so fondly hung, 

As when I bent my soul to hear 

Those heav'nly straias the Mermaid sung. 



On viewing, one summer evenings the house of 
my birthy in a state of desertion, 20 

THE cresceTit moon with pallid light 
"Was silvering o'er the brow of night ; 
Witij downy wing the summer-breeze 
Sported amid the rustling trees, 
Waving the leaves that lightly flew, 
And kissing off the night-fallen dew. 
Along the geniiy-winding vale, . 
Its surface ruffled Jay the gale, 
The softly-flowing rivulet stray'd, 
While o'er its #ave the moon-beam play'd, 
Sniiling, as calmly stealing by, 
Xike tears of joy in beauty's eye. 

Through the wood my fancy lov'd, 
Rapt in kindling thought, I rov'd; 
Not a zephyr shook the spray 
To brush the trembling gems away ; 
Not a warble met my ear. 
All was silent far and near. 



66 

Still as cypress boughs, that wave 
Slowiy o'er the lonely grave, 
And weave their deep, impressive gloom,- 
Fit emblem of the dreary tomb. 

Down a glen, where half unseen, 
Bank'd with turf of deepest green, 
Flow'd a winding rill along. 
Tinkling like the milk-maid's song ; 
Where the moon's reflected ray 
Smiling on the surface lay, 
Seeming to sleep in soft repose. 
Like morning dew-drops on the rose ; 
Where the evening-splendors fade 
In the maple's quiet shade ; 
Lonely, desolate appears. 
Pale as in the vale of years, 
The mansion where my infant eye 
First saw the rocks, the woods, the sky. 
O ! it was a lovely sight, 
Though obscur'd by shades of night; 
And though the ivy-mantled wall 
At intervals was heard to fall. 
Breaking with faintly rattling sound 
The quiet hush that reign'd around. 

Through the walks, where privets blew 
And purple lilacs wildly grew, 
'Mid entangling weeds and briars, 
And the rye-grass' waving spires, 
'Neath the pear-tree, where, as Spring 
Bade her untaught music ring, 
Purest blooms of snowy white 
Charm'd the fond-reposing sight. 
And gales of incense whisper'd by 

Gentle as the lover's sigh 

1 wander'd slow, and fondly view'd 
This scene in evening tears bedew'd, 
And felt around my heart the throe 
Of lender grief and melting woe. 



67 

To see a spot so sweet, so dear, 
Now laid on desolation's bier, 
And view a scene of loveliness 
la ruin's wildest, roughest dress. 

With trembling hand I op'd the door. 
And wander'd o'er the mouldering floor ; 
Along the slowly crumbling wall, 
Where win'trj fires were wont to fall 
And smile with beams of ruddy light, 
Chasing away the gloom of night, 
Nought was seen but shadows drear 
And sights that fill'd my soul with fear : 
Darken'd by trick'ling autumn rains, 
That left their wild fantastic stains, 
Seeming, as stars with feeble ray 
Reflected o'er fhe ceiling play. 
Spirits that swiftly flutter by 
And glance like visions on my eye. 
And there the slowly creeping snail 
Drew o'er the wall its slimy veil ; 
Its silken web the spider wove 
To trap the flies that idly rove ; 
While, slumbering through the summer's day^ 
The bat in some lone corner lay, 
Till started by my solemn tread 
He flapp'd his wings around my head, 
And darting through the broken pane 
Saii'd on the evening breeze again. 

The moonbeam shone along the room, 
Like starlight-glistening on a tomb ; 
The clock was still — its sweet-ton'd bell 
No longer rung Time's funeral knell. 
No more its mdex seem'd to say 
How swift the moments flew away. 
All was lonely, all was still, 
The thrush was silent on the hill, 
The sheep-bell's shrilly tinkling note 
Was hear'd no longer in the cote, 



68 

Ko breathing soul the silence broke, 

No flageolet its sweetness woke, 

No voice was singing in the vale, 

JMo echo floated on the gale ; 

'Twas hush'd, but when with droning souc 

The slow-wing'd beetle humm'd around. 

Resting on a broken chair. 
Relic of the ruin there, 
By the window 1 reclin'd 
And listen'd to the moaning wind, 
That whisper'd through the broken pane, 
Mournful as the funeral strain. 
O'er my head the woodbine blevir, 
All its flow'rs were wet with dew, 
And sweeter fragrance flow'd around, 
Than ever charm'd enchanted ground ; 
So sweet the scent, that Eden's gale 
Seem'd breathing through the desert vale. 
Ivy hung its tendrils there. 
And trembled in the dewy air. 
Twisting around the shatter'd frame, 
Where still a rudely sculptur'd name 
Half hid in Lichens caught my eye. 
And told me of the years gone by. 

Beneath my eye and in the shade, 
An aged elm low-bending made, 
A modest rose-bush rear'd its head 
And far around its sweetness shed. 
Two damask flow'rs with leafets pale, 
Were lightly trembling on the gale. 
And, as the moon-beam o'er them shone, 
Seem'd like two mourners left alone 
Amid those scenes, where gay delight, 
Frolic ever dancing light. 
Woke their shouts of rapture wild, 
And cheerfulness serenely smil'd. 
All — all were gone. Like insects gay, 
That sport them iu the summer ray, 



69 

Young Happiness, so sweetly blown, 
With hurrying wing away had flown, 
VanishM in night the vision fair, 
And left these two to wither there. 

I Soon I glanc'd my roving eye 
Pn a sprig of rosemary ; 
Hid in grass that rankly grew 
There fhe humble flow'ret blew, 
Bashful 'neath the rose's shade 
All its modest hues displayed ; 
As the maiden sweet as May 
With her eye of heav'nly ray 
Shrinking from the world's rude storm. 
Hides in shades obscure her form. 
On its lip of paley blue, 
Smil'd in peace a pearl of dew; 
'Twas a melancholy flow'r, 
Such as in affliction's hour 
O'er the heaving turf I'd throw, 
To deck the friend that rests below. 

Glancing farther o'er the scene, 
Gay with flow'rs and soft with green ; 
But now beneath the moon's pale light 
All seem'd one colour to the sight. 
Such the mellow fading tint, 
When the fays their footsteps print, 
Where the tiny billows break 
On the gently heaving lake : 
'Twas not ebon, twas not green, 
Mingled hues that melt between ; 
As when beside the taper's ray 
The maiden weeps the hours away, 
And seen at distance faintly glows. 
Her grief-worn cheeks decaying rose. 
Till every soft and winning charm 
Dissolves into a sylphid form. 



70 

O'er the slowly winding flood, 
Mid the shadows of the wood, ' 
And in the meadow spread before 
The ruin'd mansion's broken door, 
1 saw in gently veering flight 
The insect lightning of the night, 
Shining with a feeble ray, 
As it slowly sail'd away, 
Or twinkling with a sudden spark, 
Spangling the scenery wild and dark. 
So the meteor light of fame 
Glows with such a fickle flame, 
So all happiness below 
Is an insect's transient glow : 
For a time it sweetly smiles 
Dress'd in fancy's dearest wiles; 
Mirth amid his rosy bow'rs 
Laughs away the gliding hours, 
The moments of a short-liv'd day 
That steals like air unseen away ; 
liove entwmes his silken chain 
And breathes his soft enchanting strain, 
Joy awakes his twisted shell 
To the notes that please him well, 
Hope's gay colours richly blend 
And tell of sports that never end, 
While jovial Pleasure's golden dawn, 
Sparkles awhile, and all is gone. 

Farther still I turn'd my eyes, 
Where the waving forests rise, 
Where the hills with easy swell 
Rising from the lowly dell, 
Smile beneath the pallid ray, 
Till they fade in mist away. 
Upward to the sky I turn'd, 
Where the stars serenely burn'd, 
And around the lonely pole 
Saw the bear its lustre roll. 
There amid the lofty blue, 
Veil'd in robe of silver hue, 



71 

liUDa show'd her crescent pale, 

^od trembled through her misty veil : 

Round her orb the halo shone 

[iovely as the milky zone, 

When in winter's cloudless night 

It spreads o'er heav'n its belt of light. 

" Silvery planet— kindly shed 
Oc thy humble votary's head 
Thy serenest rays, and shine 
On my brow with beam divine. 
Light me through this world of sorrow, 
Till I find a fair to-morrow ; 
Till the woes that rack my breast 
Slumber in an infant's rest. 
When my corpse is lowly laid, 
Where the yews inweave their shade, 
rhrough the boughs that slowly wavCj 
Smile serenely on my grave. 

" Never will thy pallid ray 
O'er such lovely waters play, 
Never shine on fairer bow'rs 
Through the evening's quiet hours, 
Not shed thy flood of spotless light 
On scenes more beauteous or more bright.'^ 

Land of my Nativity ! 
How thou charm'st the wearied eye ; 
! thou hast a genial balm, 
That can the saddest bosom calm. 
Smiling in the dewy dawn, 
When the songsters o'er the lawn 
Open their mellifluous throats 
And warble their enchanting notes ; 
Glowing when the noon tide beam 
Gilds the flow'ry border'd stream. 
And charming at the close of day, 
Whea the Iwilisht fades awav. 



72 

Mountains swelling to the skjr, 
Forests frowning on the eye, 
Waving woodlands, meadows gay, 
Streamlets where the minnows play. 
Winding valleys, swelling hills, 
Crystal fountains, tinkling rills, 
Smile in morning's rosy light — 
And melt amid the shades of night > 
Such thy scenes — forever dear,^ 
Whether far away or near ; 
Whether smiling on the eye, 
Or in the hues of memory. 
When I leave this desert vale 
Thou v/ilt ever bid me wail, 
Always wake the parting sigh 
And draw the tear-drop from njy eye. 



Ii^®M©^ 



?eriiaps there is scarcely a man who has once experienced 
the genuine delight of virtuous love, however great his 
intellectual pleasures may have been, that does not look 
back to the period as the sunny spot in his whole life, 
where his imagination loves most to baskj which he re- 
collects and contemplates with the fondest regret, and 
which he would most wish to live over again.— Afa/fAw/. 

ADIEU my love, my Mary dear, 20 

Fair rose of innocence, adieu ! 

The stifled sob, the burniDg tear, 

The trembling -voice, are all for you ; 

For 1 must cross the stormy main, 

.'ilready comes the parting day, 

But when on Plata's distant plain, 

I'll think of thee, though far away. 

Each scene of youthful joys gone by, 
That now in memory's chamber sleep, 
Shall often rise before my eye. 
And bid me think of thee and weep : 
And while reclining 'neath the palm, 
That rocks before the breeze's sway, 
O I to my spirit what a balm. 
To think of thee, though far away. 

The lonely vale, the quiet tow'rj 
'Ahe maple waving on the hill. 



74 

Where oft at evening's balmy hour 
We listened to the murmuring rill ; 
Where oft we saw the glowing west 
Rich with the hues of parting day, 
Shall waken in my throbbing breast 
Sweet thoughts of thee, though far away. 

The pomp of wealth, the blaze of war, 
Shall ever seem a trifling dream, 
When smiling o'er the main afar 
I mark thy star's benignant beam ; 
When sickness sinks ray drooping head, 
This star shall shed a soothing ray, 
And cheer the lonely dying bed 
With thoughts of thee, though faraway. 

Adieu my love, my Mary dear, 
Charm of my heart, a fond adieu ; 
Forgive me if I shed a tear — 
Forgive me if I weep for you : 
The streamer wantons in the wind, 
The sailor shouts with spirits gay, 
Oh bear my image in thy mind. 
Til think of thee, though far away. 



THE 20 

FAIREST ROSE IS FAR AWA'. 

THE morn is blinking o'er the hills 
With soften'd light and colours gay ; 
Through grove and valley sweetly trills 
The melody of early day ; 
The dewy roses blooming fair 
Glitter around her father's ha% 
liut still my Mary is not there— 
'i'he fairest rose is far awa'c 



75 

The cooling zephyrs gently blow 
Along the dew-bespangled naead— 
In every field the owsen low — 
The careless shepherd tunes his reed— 
And while the roses blossom fair, 
My lute with softly dying fa* 
Laments that Mary is not there — 
The fairest rose is far awa'. 

The thrush is singing on the hills 
And charms the groves that wave around^ 
And thro' the vale the winding rills 
Awake a softly murmuring sound; 
The robin tunes his mellow throat 
Where glittering roses sweetly blaw, 
But grieves that Mary hears him not— 
The fairest rose is far awa\ 

Why breathe thy melody in vain 
Thou lovely songster of the morn — 
Why pour thy ever-varying strain 
Amid the sprays of yonder thorn — 
Do not the roses blooming fair, 
At morning's dawn or evening's fa', 
Tell thee of one that is not there — ■ 
The fairest rose that's far awa'. 



THE PARTING OF 20 

WILLIAM AND MARY. 

•' WE part, perhaps to meet no more — 
To distant lands from thee I go ; 
Far, far beyond the ocean's roar, 
For thee my tears will ever flow : 



76 

An exile from my native land, 
I long must plow the raging main : 
Alas ! no Marj^ « gentle hand 
Shall sooth my bosom's inward pain. 

Thou weep'st, my love : — how dear those tears, 
"What treasures to thy William's heart : 
They banish all his anxious fears — 
They blunt the point of sorrow's dart— 

They tell me Mary love's me still, 
And grieves to bid her last adieu : 
Oh, guard her, Heaven J from ev'ry ill, 
And keep her to her William true." 

■' And wilt thou, William ! think no more. 
When far beyond the raging main. 
How Mary lingers on this shore 
And strains to catch thy sail in vain ? 

Oh, William ! let thy wishes rise 
And send them o'er the wave to me : 
The Power, that rules in yonder skies. 
Will hear the voavs ofconstancy." 

'' Yes I I will think when far away, 
How thou art weeping on this shore ; 
Dark be the hour, and curst the day^ 
When I shall muse on thee no more. 

But hark ! the signal ! we must part :— 
While life remains let us be true ; 
Yes ! though I feel a bursting heart, 
I now must bid my last adieu." 

Her drooping h6ad his Mary laid 
Upon the youth she lov'd so well ; 
He gently kiss'd the sinking maid 
And braath'd upon feer hpsfarewdl ; 



77 

Then tore him from her fond embrace 
And dash'd the tear-drops from his eye — 
Just gaz'd upon her angel-face ; 
Then turn'd and mark'd the streamers fly. 

He shouted, as he leapM on board, 

To hide his bosom's inward pain ; 

The sails were set — the loud winds roar'df= 

The ship plough'd foaming to the main. 



HENRY AND MARY. 20 

THE Sun was sinking in the west, 
When Mary sought the birken grove ; 
In snowy la wen simply drest, 
^he came to meet her own true love. 

To meet her own true love she came 
Just at the hourofgloamin gray, 
To light anew her virgin-flame, 
And blend with his — her softer ray. 

The dewy breath of evening blew, 
And rustled thro' the spangled bfake: 
On wings of down the west-wmd flew, 
And lightly curl'd the placid lake ; 

Around on ilka briar and bush, 
The throstles sung their evaning-Iay, 
And hoarsely sweJl'd the torrent's rush. 
As down the glen it swept away. 

Thro' trembling boughs, that met the gale 
And danc'd in wanton sportiveness, 
Light-waving streaks of lustre pale 
Shone on her maiden loveliness^ 



78 

As o'er her glowing cheek they play'd, 
They ting'd it with a heav'nly hue, 
And made the tear that down it strayM 
Smile like a pearl of Eden's dew. 

She rested on the mossy bank, 
And leant upon a birken tree, 
Whose roots the crystal water drank, 
And Bwept its pure translucency. 

Why steals the tear along her cheek ? 
Why seeks her eye the parting ray ? 
She came her own true love to meet, 
But ah ! her love was far away. 

The hand of death has clos'd his eye, 
And laid him in the soldier's grave ; 
On honours bed I saw him lie, 
And sleep the slumber of the brave. 

And ne'er shall Mary meet her love 
And press him to her heaving breast ; 
The dart of e:rief has pierc'd that dove, 
And death has hush'd her woes to rest, 

iShe leant upon that birken tree, 
And saw the Sun's departing beam, 
She saw the latest twilight flee 
That silver'd o'er that mountain stream* 

Her fears she mingled with the wave, 
And " Henry" trembled on her tongue ; 
A voice cried, '• Henry's in the grave, 
His corpse is cold, his knell has rung." 

She started from her sorrowing trance, 
'Twaa Henry's spirit caught her eye : 
ifc cast on her one pitying glance. 
Then melted in the evening sky, 



79 

She shriek'd — an ashy hue o'erspread 
Her cheek, she plung'd beneath the wave, 
The waters circled o'er her head 
And gave her broken heart a grave. 



25 
STAR of my heart ! though far away 
The brightness of thy beauty shines, 
Thy soft and soul-dissolving ray 
With every thought and feeling twines ; 
^nd though thy full and perfect glow, 
On other eyes and hearts is shed. 
In naemory still thy bright beams flow, 
Like heavVs own purest hght, around my lone- 
ly head. 

How sweet to wander up the de!1, 
And trace the wildly roving stream, 
And bending o'er the crystal well 
To read the moon's reflected beam, 
The dancing light, the chequer'd glow, 
That o'er the bubbling fountain play ; 
But sweeter are the beams that flow 
From thy pure lovelinesSj though glimmering 
far av?ay. 

How sweet at sunset on the hill 
To look upon the purple ocean, 
When all that moves on earth is stilf, 
Rut that forever heaving motion ; 
AV^hat hues of heav'n around the throne 
Of day's departing monarch glow, 
O ! sweeter still to view alone 
From thy blue melting eye love's hallow'd lustre 
flow. 



80 

Than moonlight sleeping on the spring. 
Than sunset purpling o'er the main, 
Than morning's rosy welcoming, 
Than night-dew sparkling on the plain, 
More sweet thy beams in memory shine— 
My last, last thoughts to thee are giv'n ; 
My heart, my soul, my all are thine ; 
T?) think of thee is hope, to live with thee is 
heav'n. 



STAR of my heart ! thy light has gone, 
A cloud has hid it from my view, 
A night has come that has no dawn, 
A storm 1 cannot struggle through ; 
Tor like a boatman on the deep 
Without a compass, or an oar, 
"Where wild winds howl, and tempests sweep, 
^ly life must still diift on, and find no port, no 
shore. 

Well — 1 have toilM to reach a liaven, 
Where joy at length in peace might dwell,. 
And many a mountain billow braven, 
Still drawn by thy bewitching spell : 
It led me on through all that life 
Had dark and cold and hard for me, 
For still I hop'd to end this strife. 
And that niy last bright days, might sweetly 
flow with thee. 

Thou smii'dst a beacon on that shore. 
Where fancy builds her airy bow'rs, 
And gems her grots with sparkling ore, 
And weaves her shady arch of iiow'rs i 



81 

And i did hope thy light would shiii^ 
And charnn with beam more warm and bright. 
And still I hop'd its rays were mine — 
A sullen cloud came o'er, and all was wrapp'd 
in night. 

But though my course is lone and wild, 
Thro' booming waves, and wreck and sorroWj 
I would befirm as when day smil'd ; 
Reyond the grave — there shines a morrow. 
Awhile chill'd, harass'd, dash'd and tost, 
Through raging seas I plough my way 
To some dark, undi?cover'd coast, 
V/ here hope holds out no flag and mercy lights 
no ray. 



2.^ 
I THOUGHT I lov'd— no form of earth, 
A soul, a vision'd shape of air, 
The teeming heart and fancy's birth, 
The image of all good and fair : 
It had a life, a place, a home, 
Had smile, and glance, and voice, and tone ; 
Like green fields in the ocean's foam, 
'Twas with me still when all alone. 

There was a heaven upon its brow. 

An Eden In its happy eye. 

It charm'd — the sage may tell me how-=- 

It stil! has liv'd, it will not die ; 

fn pain and pleasure, weal and woe. 

Has always been my heart's fond goa'-, 

The centre where my feelings flow ; 

'i'he point where all my wishes roll. 



The harmohy of heart and thoui;iri. 
The smile, that alway answers sm)Ie'. 
The peF.ce, that man disturbeth not, 
The pure free spirit's happy isle ; 
The words that glow, the eyes that sparkle. 
The hand that melts and clings to mine, 
The lips that sraile when sorrows darkle, 



The flow, the mingled flow of mind, 
Through science, fancy, art and lore, 
A feeling taste aJike refin'd, 
A b/ending of each other's store ; 
The perfect conSdence, the thrill 
When kindred spirits join their whole, 
The joys unthought, untold, that fill, 
>Vhen heart loves heart, and soul love* 



SI 



'IS there a tear that scalds the cheek ? 
Is there a sigh, tne bosom rends ? 
Is there a grief we cannot speak ? 
■lis at the last adieu of friends. 

I'he hearts, that long have blent their cares, 
Are by a thousand. fibres t^vin'd, 
.\nd cruel is the pang, that tears 
The links, that fasten mind to mind. 

But friends must part with those most dear^ 
The severing pang their hearts must swell, 
Misfortune will extract the tear, 

I'hat trickles whtn we bid farewell. 



83 



TO see a dear one close her eye*, 
With whom food years have rolPd av/ay. 
When mounting to her kindred skies, 
Her dying features sweetly play. 

This ii? no light nortransient woe ; 

But there is hope to meet again, 

And those warm drops, that streaming fiovr, 

Are tears of joy as well as pain. 

Yes, hope will cheer the widov-'d hearf, 
When weeping o'er the dear-one's urn ; 
But who can liopc or joy impart 
To him, whose love has no return. 



THE SERENADE. 

SOFTLY the moonlight 
Is shed on the lake, 
Cool is the summer night- 
Wake 1 O awake I 
Faintly Ihe curfew 
Is heard Urn afar, 
List ye i O list ! 
To the lively Guilar. 

Trees cast a me!iciv ^hdc: 
Over the vale. 
Sweetly the serenacti 
Breatiies in the gale, 
ijofily and tenderly 
Ov-er'the lake, 
Gaiiy and cheerily- - 
Wake! O awake' 



u 

See the light pinnace 

Draws nigh to the shore, 

Swiftly it glides 

At the heave of the oar. 

Cheerily plays 

On its buoyant ear, 

Nearer and nearer 

The lively Guitar. 

Now the wind rises 
And ruffles the pine, 
Ripples foam-crested 
Like diamonds shine, 
They flash, where the waters 
Tiie white pebbles lave. 
In the wake of the moon, 
As it crosses the wave. 

Bounding from billow 
To billow, the boat 
Like a wild swan is seen 
On the waters to float ; 
And the light dipping oars 
Bear it smoothly along 
In time to the air 
Of the Gondolier's song. 

And higli on (he stern 

Stands the young and the brave^- 

As love-led he crosses 

The slar-spanp;led wave, 

And blends with the murmur 

Of water and i^rove 

Tile tones of the night, 

'I'hut are sacred to love. 

His gold-hilted sword 
At his bright belt is hung. 
His mantfe of silk 
On bis shoulder is fluns', 



85 

And high waves the feather, 
That dances and plays 
On his cap where the buckle 
And rosary blaze. 

The maid from her lattice 
Looks down on the lake, 
To see the foam sparkle, 
The bright billow break,^ 
And to hear in his boat, 
Where he shine? like a star, 
Her lover so tenderly 
Touch his Guitar, 

She opens her lattice, 

And sits in the glow 

Of the moon-light and star-light, 

A statue of snow ; 

And she sings in a voice, 

That is broken with sighs, 

And ?he darts on her lover 

The light of her eyes. 

Ilis love-speaking pantomime 

Tells her his sou! — 

How wild in that sunny clime 

Hearts and eyes roll. 

She waves with her white haml 

Her white fazzolelt, 

And her burning thoughts flash 

From her eyes' living jet. 

The moonlight rs hid 
In a \apour of snow ; 
Her voice and his rebeck 
Alternately flow ; 
Re-echoed they swell 
From tlie rock on the hill ; 
They sing tlieir farewell, 
And the music is still- 

Hz 



8G 

IHERE is an hour, a heavenly hour, 
When rapture swells my throbbing breastj 
When joy exerts her ?yren pow'r 
To lull my cares and woes (o reft : 
It is the hour of evening pale, 
Beside the maiden of my heart; 
'Tis when within the quiet vale 
We meet aud hope no more to part. 

Let proud ambition boast his fame, 
And point where burns his glory-star ; 
I envy not the hero's name, 
J care not for the blaze of war : 
Give me, v/hen evening draws around 
The silent dell i(s rosy veil, 
'j'o hear her h?\rp's wild-warbling sound 
And listen to her soothing tale. 

This is the star that charms my sight, 
The mildly beaming star of love — 

There is no star of purer light, 
'I'hat sparkles in the heav'ns above. 
Lay me beneath the willow's shade, 
\Vhere softly sighs the evening gale, 
Love's paradise can never fadt 
Willi Marv hi the quiet vale. 



Tli nit'iit — i;ut yet the moon is high, 
A/id floaiiti^ round her shadowy throne 
'i he 3eecy clcnds iti slumber lie, 
Aiid gird her with a goldeu 2one. 

Tiu. air is hush'd, the lea^'es are still, 
"i'ije lake its glass}' mirror spreads, 
'i'lic moaDj^ght settles on the hill 
Aijd gjivfrs e'er the mountain-heads. 



t^S 



There is a spirit in the vind— 
It whippers peace into the soul ; 
A bahia that stills the ruffled miar?, 
I'he heaviog bosom'^s sweet control. 

Though passion sleeps, yet memory -wake?. 

And fancy calls her airy train, 

A thousand blended hues she takes 

And lost enjoyments live again. 

She summons up the raptur'd hour, 
When life was pure and thought was free^ 
And sway'd alone by nature's pow'r 
1 roam'd in careless liberty. 

My beiag's dawn, my days oi' feeling, . 
Tfie sunny springtime of my soul, 
When the warm tide of life is swelling. 
And all our pulses wildly roll. 

The days of health and joy and love, 
Aiid glowing hopes and prospects high, — 
! see them — and my heart's fond dove. 
Her beckning smile, her speaking eye. 

Ah ! thou art here — I feel thy breath, 
It fans my pale and witber'd cheek, 
It starts me from my dream of deaih- 

I it is heaven to hear thee speak. 

And then to hang upon thee sn, 
Those lips how gweet, how warm tiiat kis 
What words of honey o'er them flow, 
Those liquid tones — how full of bliss. 

And how our meetiagTiosoms beat» 
And how our mutjal feelirigs blend ; 

1 call thee love and life and sweet, 

And O i thou say'st, my hearts soh frieBd. 



88 

Our thoughts, our hopes, our joys are one, 
In one full tide our being rolls. 
This is the bosom's unison, 
The harmony of kindred souls. 

Our spirits burst the bands of earth, 
By loves o'er powering influence driv*n ; 
This is indeed a second birth, 
O I this it is to live in heav'n. 

Begone fond dream ! I stand alone, 
By night's chill dews my locks are wef. 
Love's paradise forever flown, 
My sun in utter darkness set. 

Slow through my veins the ice-drops creep, 
My fancy's cherish'd vision fled, 
My feelings wrapp'd in endless sleep — 
' live, but oh ! my heart is dead. 



THE LAMP OF LOVE. 20 

LIGHT the lamp of love- 
Light it with a fire 
Falling from above, 
Sparkling with desire. 
When the flame is bright, 
Place it in the bow'r 
Where true hearts delight 
To pass the evening hour : 
ft will softly shine 
Through the maiitling leaves, 
Which the Graces twine, 
And affection weaves — 
^Veaves into a chain, 
With the smile of bliss, 
Melting looks that banish pain, 
I pure enjoyment's honey 'd kiss. 



89 

See 1 how bright it gleam?, 

Like the evening-star — 

How its mellow beams 

Scatter wide and far, 

Lighting on his way, 

To the lonely bow'r, 

Him, who loves to stray 

Round affection's modest flow'r— 

Him, who loves the blush that glow? 

On the cheek of innocence, 

Brightening like the dewy rose, 

And breathing like it to the sense. 

But there is a ray 

More delightful still. 

Beams that softlier play. 

Looks that sweetlier thrill ; 

'Tis the eye whose light, 

Sparkling from the heart, 

Fours upon the sight 

Joys that ne'er depart ; 

'Tis the look that tells 

Love is living there, 

And like the fairy's witching spells. 

Bids every scene enchantment wear. 

Ah ! the light has faded 

In the darkend bow'r, 

Jealousy has shaded 

Every leaf and smiling flow'r. 

Can the dying beams 

Shine again as bright as ever? 

No ! the demon's inky streams, 

Wheo once they quench them, quench forever 



90 
THE GALLEY SLAVE. 20 

HOW dark is the night ; and no planet is gle&ra- 

To light the lost mariner over the wave ; 

IIow dark is my fortune, no sunshine is beaming 

From Hope, on the poor galley slave. 

The mariner wails till the morning is breaking, 

When day-light shall point him his path to the 

shore ; 
By night and by day the poor Galley Slave 

waking — 
Must sigh as he lugs at Ike oar, 

Tho' cold be the storm on the wand'rer descend- 

And chill be the tempests that over him blow, 
Still Hope on this storm some lew bright rays is 

blendmg, 
And smiles on the dark cloud of woe. 
But never shall Hope, to the poor galley slave, 
!Jis frieuds or the love of his bosom restore ; 
No, never, the wretch till he sleeps in the grave 
Must sigh as he tugs at the oar. 

And oft, as around him the billows were 
roaring, 

He struggled to sweep his broad oar through 
the wave, 

I've mark'd him in tears his lost freedom deplor- 
ing, 

I've markM the poor heart-broken slave. 

'♦ Ah ! ce'er shall I meet my lost friends,'' he 
was crying, 

t* Oh ! ne'er shall my woes and my sorrows be 
o'er I" 

Then faintly his voice on his pallid lips dyiogj 

He iighH as he iugg''d at the oar» 



9i 

When nature huri sunk and the poor galley siavt.^ 
In short broken s!unr)bers, is restin? from pain, 
He dreams that he crosfses the far distant wave, 
And meets with his Mary again. 
But soon from his slnmber in anguish awaking, 
His fond dream of love and of pleasure is o'er, 

leaves him w 

is breaking, 
But to sigh as he lugs at the oar 



On ike death of Miss , who was drowned 

while balhirn^ at . 

20 
THE sun from his soft swelling palace of blue, 
Looked down on the waves of the ocean : 
O^er the breast of the billow the razor-bill flew, 
All hushM was its stormy commotion. 

The Halcyon rockM on his wave-cradled bed, 

And slept on the surj^e as a pillow ; 

J'he gulls fiapp'd their win^s o'er the mariner's 

head, 
As his bark p]ou.::^h^d the foam of the billow. 

Like the goddess of beauty, array'd in her 

charms, 
When from Ida in tri'jmph descending, 
Maria, unmindful of future alarms, 
O'er the breaker that rippled was bending. 

She saw in the wave, as it rolPd on the shore, 
Her charm?, with triumphant emotion, 
And little she thought '«nid the billows loud roar 
How soon she should .sleep in ihe ocean. 

Her maids sitood ar-^und her, and scarce at her 

Ascended the soft kis^insr billow : ffc-et 



92 

Ah ! little they thought, that an angel so sweet 
Should repose on a watery pillow. " 

While securely they dipp'd in the scarce-heaving 
That softly around them was swelling, [wave, 
The sea-nymphs were decking her coralline 

grave, 
And her parting bell slowly Avas knelling. 

A breaker arose like the wave of the storm, 
It foam'd with a wild heaving motion, 
And dash'd o'er the strand — overwhelmed her 
And buried her deep in the ocean. [fair form, 

A faintjshriek was heard, and 'twas silent again ; 
She has gone, — she has vanish'd forever : 
Long — long shall they seek for her corse in the 
But when shall they find it — ah I never, [main, 

On sea-weeds and corallines softly reclin'd, 

Maria is calmly reposing ; 

Round her wave-polish'd bones the sea-mosses 

shall wind. 
Till time o'er the ocean is closing. 

And long shall the sea-boy, while wrap'd in his 
At iTiidnijiht av/ake from his pillow, [dream, 
And wondering view in the moon's silver beam. 
Her fair spirit glide o'er the billow. 



20 
CIVE me a lonely seat, 
Where she repc-es, 
Where the rude billows beat. 

As the day closes. 



93 

Where tl.e waves on the shore, 
>Vhite with commotion, 
Raise the loud pealing roar 
Over the ocean. 

There I would sadly rest 
On my cold pillow, 
There seek to soothe my breast 
Under the willow ; 
But oh 1 my Mary dear- 
Parted forever, 
Comfort I cannot hear, 
Never, 01 never. 

Oft when the silver beam 

Kisses the billow — 

Oft shall my sorrow stream 

rjnder the willow ; 

And though the midnight storm 

Howls o'er the ocean, 

Still 1 shall view Ihy form. 

Rapt in emotion. 

Billows are roaring, 

And ocean is sweliing, 

I am deploring. 

My death-bell is kaelling. 

O 1 in the stormy mala 

Loving forever, 

When can we part again— 

Never, O I never. 

Oft shall the mariner, 
Ploughinj!: the billow. 
Start from his slumber 
Of peace on his pillow ; 
Then, wkile the moon-beana 
Is silvering the ocean. 
And the wave tosses hinj 
Witf^ its lii^'ht motion; 



94 

Like a bright vision, 
Over <he heaving tide, 
Sweetly Elysian. 
O ! can the stormy main 
Hearts so fond sever — 
O I can we part again — 



THE 

FLOWER OF THE VALLEY. 20 

SWEET flower of the va'ley, why droop -st thou 

so low, 
Ah I why is thy beauty aii faded and gone, 
Ah ! who coiild destroy thee — who wield the 

sad blow — 
Who rifle //j;y charms in their earliest dawn ? 

So gay was the morning, that rose as you blew, 
So fragrant the zephyrs, that fluttered around — 
So soft did'st thou Fmile through thy mantle of 

dew, 
No lo\ditr f^oicer in the valley was found. 

But see, on the turf all thy beauties are laid. 
Thy leaves— they are scattered, thj &v/eetness 

is gone ; 
Thy colours — once gay aa the rainbow — no^v■ 

fade 
Aa fast, as the hues that eiiliven the dawn. 

Sweet flower 1 once Ihe sweetest that bloonrd 

in the vale — 
Sweet flower ! we will weep, for thy beauties 



95 

for those «harms that are gone we will pour 

\ the sad wail, 

&nd chaunt o'er thy ruins the dirge of the dead. 



iVritUn nyi hearing a lady sing in the ioxcer of 
Montevideo— iheseai ofD. fT********, Esq. 
of Hartford : 20 

FHE soft dews of twilight are steeping the 
plain, 

And gemming (he boughs of the willow — 
I'he eve-star is lighting its twinkle again, 

To shine on th€ foam of the biilow — 

Ihe south breeze is brushing the breast of the 
lake, 

That swells with a light heaving motion, 
L^nd its ripple is heard on the pebbles to break 

Like the slumbering wave of the ocean — 

rhe gale on its pinions of gossamer 3ies 
Thro' the boughs of the low bending willow, 

And sweeping the forest, it mournfully sighs 
O'er the turf of my flowery pillow, — 

[t hears on its wing, from the dark lonely tow'r, 
O'er the mead, and the wave's " playful mo« 
tion," 

The song of the maid, who at eve's balmy hour 
Sings her sweet breathing strain of devotion : 

Like the hymn of a seraph, it floats through 

the grove, 

And sighs o'er the slope of the mountain ; 

How sweet — how enchanting its warble of 

love — 

How it lulls, like the flow of the fountaio. 



96 

As I listeo, I fancy the dew-dropping cloud, 
That glows with a " lovely tomorrow," 

An angei conceals, in its ebony shroud, 
Whose harp breathes her accent of sorrow. 



THE VIOLET. 20 

AMONG all the sweet blooming ilow'rs of the 

spring:, 
That deck every meadow, and scent every gale ; 
There is none to my heart such a transport can 

bring 
As the violet that blossoms unseen in the vale. 

The rose may delight with its odours and 

blushes — 
We may hang on the lily's leaves tender and 

pale — 
Hues of beauty may glow on the laurel's gay 

bushes — 
But lovelier the violet that blooms in the vale. 

Though the earliest dawn of the morning should 
find me 

Inhaling the fragrance that breathes in the gale, 

I would leave all the iIowts of the garden be- 
hind me. 

To view the sweet violet that blooms in the 
vale. 

When the 6elds are one flowV-bed, all blooming 

and gay, 
And far-floating clouds of aroma exhale; 
8till no hues in the sun-beams so pleasingly play 
As those on the violet that blooras in the vale. 



97 

! have seen many beauties In woman's soft 

form — 
In the cheek gay with hope, or with sorrow all 

pale ; 
But none could my heart so delightfully charm, 
As the maiden, that bloom'd in obscurity's vale. 

At the accent of joy, oh ! how bright was her 

eye — 
How she wept when she listen'd to pity's soft 

tale— 
From every gay beauty of fashion I'd fly 
To the maiden, who bloom'd in obscurity's vale. 



TAimi^. 



20 

HOW sweet is the (urf on the grave of my 
friend, 

Where the joy of wj heart wrapt in slumber 
reposes, 

On the dew-spangled sod how the morning rays 
blend, 

Like the bright airy colours tl>at Evening dis- 
closes. 

And bright be the rays — for a soul that was 
bright, 

\s the star of the morning, here peacefully slum- 
bers ; 

O ! where is the mortal so dear to my sight — 

O I what sounds are so sweet as his harp's live- 
ly numbers. 

He tunM all the chords of his harp to a strain- 
It seem'd as if angels were waking their lyres ; 
There seem'd every wild-warbling bird on the 

plain, 
When his fingers swept gracefully over the 

wires. 

But there always was heard in his liveliest notes 
A slight strain of sorrow, that breath'd in my 



99 

As wheD on the west- wind the dirge sweetly 

floats, 
And from the eye gently elicits the tear. 

I have heard him, when sorrowful, pour on the 

gale 
Such soft notes of sadness, I wept at the sounds 
It seera'd that the turtle-doTc's heart-breathing 

wail 
Was filling the pines that wav'd gloomily 'round. 

He would sweep o'er the chords all the pow'r 

of his arm, 
And wake such a strain — 'twas alive to my 

soul, — 
So sweet, 'twould each pang of my bosom dis- 
And bid all my feelings in extacy roll. [arm. 

But, minstrel of Nature I thy soul breathes no 

more — 
Thine eye darts no longer enlivening fire ; 

1 ne'er shall thy harp its wild witchery pour- 
No descant of sorrow e'er flow from thy lyre. 

(Life's sea was too stormy for bosoms like thine — 
*As well might the child front the tempest's loud 

1 wave ; 

LBut I'll often retire to weep over thy shrine, 
And the turf shall forever grow green on thy 
grave. 



20 

ElEST, my lyre ! till the winter of sorrow 
s gone, and the spring-tide of pleasure return — 
I may kindle its smile ere the diiwn of to-mor- 
row. 



100 

And shake the sweet dews of delight from its 

urn. 
Then let thy striogs — brushed by fancy's light 

wings, 
Breathe the music of joy in the listener's ear: 
Then let thy note — like the nightingale's float, 
lighting rapture's gay smile, stealing pity's soft 

tear. 

Though I should tune to the key-note of glad- 
ness 
\'hy chords — yet the blast of the winter's chill 
wind 

Would wake (hem to nought but the moaning 
of sadness, 

To an air that would sink, not enliven the mind. 

Rest then, my lyre 1 awhile — rest till with ver- 
mii smile 
pring ducks the mead and enkindles the grove ; 

i hen let the zephyr's wings brush gently o'er 
*hy strings, 

iVaking thera ail to the music of love. 

Xow I aai sorro'.vful — If-ars give me pleasure — 

Hush tiien thy music — be siient my lyre I 

For thy strings tunM to grief's mournfullest 

meafcure, 
VVitke in my heart an enlivening fire ; 
Vv'ijfin pleasure wreathes my head — and sor- 
row's tear is fled. 
Then let the wind kiss thy chords as it flies, 
Wat'ting a strain along — sweet as the robin's 

song, 
Bidding joy sparkle in beauty's blue eyes. 

.yro of my soul I sorrow's dark clouds are 
hrcaliing — 
•r.niies through their gloom the clear azure of 



101 

Every sweet \varbler of rapture is waking, 

Every vale listens to love's fondest kiss. 

Now to the passing wind — be all thy chords re- 

signM, 
Let each gay pinon, that shines in its wing, 
Wake all thy melody — swell all thy wild notes 

high, 
Till rock and wood with thy extacy ring. 



20 



SHE'S gone— the idol of my heart, 

She's gone, alas ! forever. 

Could heav'n such tender lovers part , 

Such links of fondness sever ? 

So strong we twin'd the chain of love, 

We thought no force could break it ; 

Such flowVs within its links we wove, 

•Twas sweet as bliss could make it. 

It was a silken flowery chain, 

And soft as downy pinions ; 

So bright its links, night shows in vaio 

Heav'n's glittering " starr'd dominions.'^ 

And oh I I thought no pow'r so strong, 

This chaiu of love to sever; 

But ah ! her vows were but a song — 

She's gone, alas ! fortver. 

There is an angel in her eye. 
So modest, sweet and charming ; 
And when her sudden glances fly 
The bosom's peace alarming, 
Pwcason cannot withstand her powV, 
Its light by papsion shaded : 
So fails the blocmiog April floy*V, 
'Tis jr/iuck'dj rejected, faded. 



102 

O ! save me from a woman's eye ; 

There is a fiend within it. 

O ! guard me from a woman's sigh, 

For death is breathing in it. 

She smiles, enchants us, then betrays ; 

Her charms are man's undoing, 

And in her flowery paths there strays 



You cannot tell when woman loves, 

For all she does is smiling ; 

And when those charming lips she moves, 

'Vis all for man's beguiling ; 

And though her face like heav'n is fair, 

Each dart of Cupid wieldihg, 

Her heart is still like gossamer, 

As fluttering and as yielding. 

Each idle glance can make her sigh 

A moment, and 'tis over. 

There's nothing like a woman's eye, 

So wild, so light a rover. 

Bhe loves a coxcomb when he smiles. 

And poets when they praise her ; 

But gold alone has those dear wiles, 

Than can to rapture raise her. 

Then go, thou false unmeaning thing — 
Go — and begone forever : 
Shalt thou again my bosom wring, 
And steal my tears ? — No, never. 



20 
WHEN the winter of sorrow's keen tempests 

are blowing. 
There i^ nought c?u the gloom of affliction be- 



103 

O! there's nothing can set all my spirits a flo\7- 

ing, 
Like the playfulness sporting in woman's soft 

smile. 
To me, "'tis the sweet-beaming star of the morn- 

When it shines o'er the fields all bespangled 

with dew ; 
Or the rose in its full bloom the valley adorning, 
When the Spring spreads its flowers and the 

sky is all blue. 

You may lay my torn head on the pillow of an- 
guish, 

You may draw round my couch the dark cur- 
tain of woe, 

By night and by day I may painfully languish, 

While the big drops of sorrow unceasingly flow : 

But the sweet smile, that breathes on the lips 
that are dear, 

All ray anguish can sooUiC, all my sorrow re- 
move ; 

When woman looks kindly, I dry every tear; 

O I there's nothing can charm like the smile of 
my love. 

When the spring blooms delightfully, clothing 

the scene 
With sweet-breathing festoons of lilacs aad 

roses, 
And veils every meadow in nature's pure g:reen,. 
Where the eye as on pillows of softness reposes . 
Though this scene every thorn of affliction be» 

guiles, 
And smooths every passion to quiet repose ; 
There is nothing like beauty all beaming mth. 

smiles, 
Xiike the play of her lips, and her cheek^5 

blooming rose. 



104 

20 
IVHEN I roam o'er the fields at the opening of 

dawn, 
On the flowers, that bloom round, how enchant- 
ed I dwell; 
But sweeter the dew-dropa that spangle the 

lawn, 
And dearer the gem in the gay blossom's bell : 
So when beauty is beaming and blooming 

around, 
Though her bloom and her smile to my bosom 

are dear; 
Yet — dearer the eye that is bent on th>e ground, 
And sweeter the ray of afiliction's soft tear. 

When the blossoms of nature are spangled with 

dew, 
Or wet with the drops of the Spring's gentle 

shower ; 
■O ! there's nought in creation more sweet to 

my view, 
And that which droops most is the loveliest 

tlower: 
So when beauty is weeping, her charms are 

more dear, 
Those tears all her blushes, like rainbows, 

itiume; 
And O ! the^ost charming and heavenly tear 
A fair slate; Bbeds on a iovM brother's tomb. 



':0 



l WAS ciiCe iiappy and blest; 
.r,ut pleasure has, fiown from me ioi;g. 
i was once lov'd and caress'd ; 
But my loves ody live &o-.v in scng. 



105 

i was once cheerful and gay, 

The rose on my cheek spread its blootu i 

But the roses have faded away, 

And left but the hue of the tomb. 

Pleasure once beam'd in my eye — 
O ! how blithely I laugh*d and I pung ; 
But those moments of bliss are gone by, 
And my bower all with mourning is hungo 

They call'd me an angel and smil'd, 
And I smiPd and believ'd they spoke (rue ; 

I how my weak heart was beguil'd, 

1 was ruin'dj then bidden adieu. 

Ye, who exult in your youth 

And your beauty, be taught by my tear ; 

O ! listen to nothing but truth, 

And close on the batterer your ear. 



ONCE, en a cloudless summer-day, 
Beneath a mantling vine I lay, 
When Cupid came by chance that way, 
And aim'd at me an arrow. 

He laid the dart upon the bow, 
And drew the horn and sinew so — 
And said, " my friend, you soon will kno^r; 
How keenly stings my arrow." 

His cl^eek v^as gay, his eye was brif.ht, 
And shot a piercing, bitter light — 
He drew the nerve all tense and tight, 
And then let fly his arrow. 

JC 



106 

The b3w twang'd sharp, and with a bound 
At once its mark the weapon found j^ 
1 tingled with the fiery wound 
Of that soul-kiiidiing arrow. 

He flapp'd his wings, away he flew, 
And turning backward iook'd me through. 
And slily laugh'd, as forth I drew 
The heart-encrimson'd arrow. 

1 felt my blood like lava glow, 
I writb'd, and twin'd, and wrestled so^ 
As madmen in their dying throe— 
I broke and curs'd the arrow. 

It is indeed a cruel thiag, 
When early youth is on the wing, 
To feel, and keenly feel the sting: 
Of such a poiaon'd arrow. 



2B 



!vlY heart too firmly trusted, fondly gave 

Itself to ail its tenderness a slave ; 

1 had no wish but thee and only thee : 

? saw no joy, no hope, beyond thy smile ; 

J knev/ no happiness, but only while 

Thy love-lit eyes were kindly turn'd on me^ 

I took the tender image to my breast, 
I made it (here a dear, a cherish'd guest, 
I laid it on the pillow of my eoul ; 
ji gave it all my feeling, and around 
The fond idea all my heart-strings bound ; 
Is thai one point I blent jcy being's whole. 



^#^ 



10' 



But thoy hast gone, and left me hers to bear 
The weight of looelioess — thou think'st not, 

whera 
-Bright forms caress thee, of my bosom -torn 
By thee so coldly — but I cannot rend 
Thy image from my heart, I cannot blend 
Hate with the love so long, so f'jndiy borne, 

I feci my =pi:it falter, and my frame 
Trembling and faint with weaknesa, but the 

flame 
Of passion burns as brightly — I will lay 
My forehead on my pillow, and resigJi 
My bosom to its torture, nor repine, 
Aad let the fire consume my life awaj^ 



£0 

ARABIA may boast of its coffee-clad moun- 
tains, 

And frankincense-thickets that sweeten iti 
gales ; 

I love my green meadows, and clear flowing 
fountains, 

My hills gently swelling, and soft-winding vales. 

When norning is glowing, or evening is fading. 
These scenes all "the beauties that soften us 

Vi^ear ; 
For reclia'd on the seat, which the vine leaves 

are «hading, 
I listen the music of Mary my fair. 

The blossom?, that glow in Peruvian bowers. 
May sparkle v.ilh coloisrs more vivid an^ 



108 

3 ut still the soft charms of our dew-breathing 

flo-vers 
Are sweeter to sense and more dear to the 

Eight: 

J3o the maiden — whose smiles like the ray of 

the morning 
Can soften the bosom and free it from care, 
"Whom roses and lilies and diamonds adorning 
Have fashioned an angel— is Mary my fair. 



,C>EAR little angel of my heart — 
How full of life thy cheek is flushing '. 
But when I tell thee we must part,' 
Mow softly pure thy tears are gushing ! 

Though thou art but the opening bloona, 
The promise of a richer treasure ; 
Thy breath is still love's sweet perfume— 
Thy smile, the dearest smile of pleasure. 

But love with thee is heav'nly love, 
And pleasure — O how pure, how holy ! — 
The fondness of a cooioo; dove, 
That toys and. sports, nor dreams of folly 

Sweet innocent, O ! 1 could dream 
Of thy pure ans^el-charms forever, 
Could sun me in thy eye's warm beam, 
Afid when thou smifet, be sad O ! never, 

I love thee as I love the child, 
TtVhen on its mother's bosom smiling, 
And low she sings her murmur wild, 
The startled cherub's fears beguiling. 



91 



109 

Thy flaxen locks, thine eye of blue, 
Thy ruby lips all ?wee(Iy blooming, 
That smile like roses wet with dew, 
The murmuring breath of morn perfuming- 

Thy glance, that smiles when joy is nigh ; 
Kow through the tear of pity stealing, 
When faintly bursts the stifled sigh, 
And sweetly breathes the voice of feeling--- 

! when I gaze on charms so bright. 
So heavenly fair, so richly glowing ; 

1 feel a thrilling, pure delight 
Through every vein and fibre flowing : 

As if my eyes beheld a form 
Of cherub-iight from heaven descendingj 
With looks that speak afiection warm, 
O'er sorrow's couch in pity bending. 

! dearest, thou art happy now. 

No pang thy bosom's peace alarming ; 

Contentment smiles upon thy brow, 

And virtue — O I how pure, how charming : 

And let it not disturb thy re&t, 
That soon thou roeel'st a world of sorrow ; 
But from the heaven %vithin thy breast, 
The aid to bear its evils, borrow. 

And O ! my dear — my only dear- 
Should fate the bonds that twine us sever:- 

1 still would shed the bitter tear. 
And think of Mary— O l* forever. 

K2 



110 

COME— come away unto the silent grove, 

And in this solitude 

Indulge thy melancholy raood, 

And weep for fruitless love : 

Come— come and peek the cedar's shade ; 

Beneath its gloonoy shadow laid, 

List to the turtle's mournful lay, 

That fills the solemn hush around, 

IJroke by this soft-lamenting sound, 

Until it dies away. 

There lie and let thy tears unceasing flow i 

Indulge thy swelling grief, 

Until thou findst a sweet relief, 

A balm for all thy woe ; 

For tears can sooth the anxious breast, 

Compose affliction's throb to rest, 

!r>stil a holy calm of peace, 

A calm that lights a placid smile 

Upon our lips, and bids awhile 

Our ruelancholy cease. 

Then rise and seek the brightly ilow'rlng fields 

And, as you careless stray, 

Hear the brisk songsters warbling gay, 

And taste the joy they yield : 

Then think no more of cruel love ; 

bat let thy thoughts unfettered rove. 

And o'er the landscape wander free ; 

And while thou feel'st relief from paio, 

O 1 never, never think again 

Tnat Mary's detf to thce^ 



ill 

ONE evening, when the skj was blue, 
When Spring was clad in greenest hue, 
When gently fell the cooling dew, 
I saw sweet Mary. 

The roses bloom'd upon her cheek, 
Jler sparkling eye, though bright, was meek, 
'Twas music, when I heard her speak* 
Ah! dearest Mary. 

Her forehead, white as drifted snow, 
Was soft as downy- plumes, that flow 
Wide o'er the fields, when zephyrs bio^v. 
Ah I dearest Mary. 

Her look, the picture of her mind, 
By every charm and grace refin'd, 
To calmest musing seem'd resign'd. 
Ah 1 dearest Mary. 

She sung — her sweetly soothing strain 
Floated along the flowery plain. 
So sweet, the robin sings in vain. 
Ah I dearest Mary.. 

Her voice was still — her hand she Ihre^v 
Around her robe and lightly flew. 
Brushing the faintly ghsiening dew. 
Ah I dearest Mary. 

Entranc'd in bliss, I saw her fly, 
Fair as the moon that gilds the sky, 
Sailing enrob'd in silver dye. 
Ah I deaj est Mary. 

And when T laid me down to rest, 
3 saw her smile, in beauty drest. 
And clasp'd her vision to my breast» 
Ah I dearest Mary, 



17 



il2 

We roam'd through cool and shady groves, 
We told our pure unsullied loves, 
We kiss'd v;ith hearts as true as doves'. 
Ahl dearest Mary. 

•O ! may this vision ne'er depart. 
But dwell forever round my heart, 
Untouch'd by disappointment's dart. 
Ah I dearest Mary. 

Then I, a cheerful, happy swain, 
With her, a nymph, might rove the plain, 
r*?or ever — ever leave again 
My dearest Mary. 



17 



I LOVE the ruddy cheek, that glows 
Bright as the crimson-flow'ring rose, 
That in the Spring most sweetly blows ; 
But yet I love to see, 
More than this cheek that brightly glows. 
The eye that sparkles brilliantly. 

] love the arm of fairest snow, 
Round as the tapering trees that grow, 
Where streams in purest currents flow ; 
But yet I love to see, 
More than this arm of fairest snow, 
The eye, &c. 

I love the jetty curling hair, 
That floats around the bosom fair, 
And waves in tresses on the air ; 
But yet I love to see. 
More than this jetty curilng hair, 
Tie eve, -fee. 



113 

i love the gently heaving breast, 
In robe of milky softness drest, 
By love and all the graces prest ; 
8013-^611 love to see, 
More than this gently heaving breast, 
The eye, &c. 

1 love the Hpi5 like ruby flow'rs. 
That blow aniid the sweetest bow'rs, 
Smiling as wet with dewy showVs ; 
But yet I love to .«ee, 
More than these lips like ruby flow'rs, 
The eye, &c. 

I love the tender hand, whose white 
Seems melting to the enaraour'd sight, 
And calls to bowers of pure delight ; 
But yet I love to see, 
More than this hand of melting white, 
The eye, &c. 

I love the artless winning forra, 
Where easy gracefulness can charm 
And fill the heart with soft alarm ; 
But yet I love to see, 
More than this artless winning form, 
The eye, &c. 

The mind imbued with wisdom's lore, 
And rich in learning's fairest store, 
Than sparkling eye delights me more ; 
Yes, 1 had rather see, 
The mind imbued with wisdom's lore, 
Than eye, Szc, 

The breast that feels another's wocz, 
"^Vith charity intensely glows. 



114 

And the kind heart of feeling shows > 
Yes, I had rather see 
The breast (hat feels another's woes, 
Tlian eye, &c. 

The life that fJows in gentle love, 
That would each passing honi- i.iiprove. 
And tread the path to worlds above ; 
Yes, I had rather see 
The life that flows in gentle love, 
Than eye, &c. 

May all these charms and graces blend, 
And beauty, love, and wit attend 
The feeling heart, the tender friend; 
O I i would love to see 
The form, the heart, the spirit, hlend 
With eye that sparkles brilliantly. 



17 
WHO is that mourner bending o^er yon grave. 
Whose glistening tears flow down her pallid 

cheek. 
Whose voice like cooing doves' 
Is full of plaintive woe ? 

A mother weeping for her infant dear^ 
A smiling babe, who, like the early flovverj. 
Ju.st blossom'd for a day, 
And thea was seen no more. 

See, how her tears bedew that verdant grave. 
And on that slowly waving blade of grassj 
Mark, how that crystal drop 
l^hiues m the caoon's pa!e beaza* 



11 



o 



Ah ! listen to her softly utter'd tale, 
Which, touching all the chords of sympathy., 
Bids the unsullied tear 
Stand in the stranger's eye. 

*' Ah ! lovely babe, sweet image of thy sire. 
Who, in the stormy bosom of the deep, 
Ere thou hadst seen the light, 
Found his cold watery grave: 

I fondly hop'd to rear thy angel-form, 
To make thee first and fairest of the fair. 
In every virtuous grace, 
In every mental charm. 

This cheering thought enliven'd all ray toil, 
This sweeten'd all my anxious, watchful hoiHY^ 
When through the wint'ry night 
I-h«5h'd thy cries to rest. 

Ort I would look upon thy sleeping form, 
And the calm smile that play'd upon thy lip?. 
And when I saw thee move, 
Would sing my lullaby. 

But cruel death thy opening blossom nippMj 
And laid thee low wilhin the silent tomb, 
And robb'd me of my sole, 
My sole surviving joy. 

Ah ! can I tell the agony I feel, 

The cruel pang that wrung my bleeding heart; 

When hollow sounding clods 

Fell in thy narrow grave ? 

How pleading— to behold thy early bloom, 
Like morning flowers, but ah ! how oaournfut 
tco — 
sv/eet to taste of bliss, 
Q^GOti to lose lis b&lm. 



t 



116 

Soon I shall leave this tenement of clay, 
Soon I frhall meet thee and tbj much-lovM sire^. 
Above yon starry sky, 
In one eternal heaven. 

For o'er my cheek the lily V hue is spread, 
And scarce the pulses beat within my heart, 
"While death, with awful voice, 
Kings loudly in my ear. 

But I can leave this mournful world with joy^ 
Can view the last recess of parting life, 
And feel the icy chill 
Creep through my withered veins." 



IT 

SEE — how the clear unsullied streamlet strays 
Along thej windings of the blossom'd vale. 
And o'er the gtntle slope 
Dashes its crystal flood : 

With soothing sweetness slowly tinkles on, 
Rippling around the verdant mossy stone, 
Or in the unruffled pool 
A pearly mirror shows : 

Now murmurs softly o'er its gravelly bedj 
'Now s-i\ent curls along a sandy shoal. 
And now, beneath a root, 
Its lucid current hides. 

Emerging thence, it scarcely steals along, 
Whtre buboles ting'd with ruinbowa ligUtlj 

glide, 
And, dancing on the wave, Jjj 

Are brokea by the gale* ^ 



117 

Now, standing in a pool, the whispering breezf 
Uprears the water pure as oew-fallen snow, 
And throws it wildly round 
In every lovely form. 

It flows thus sweetly through the silent vale, 
In youthful gentleness, unti'. increasM 
By rills and cool clear springs, 
It swells into a brook. 

Louder the murnour rises on the gale, 
And dash'd along the rudely broken steep, 
O'ertop'd with whitest foam 
The billows tumble on. 

Now sunk to peace, the unambitious stream 
Floats in broad current o'er the smiling mead, 
Reflecting as a glass 
The lily's snowy bloom. 

Again it darts with loud increasing roar 
Along the rapid, pouring o'er the rocks, 
And swelling on the breeze. 
That waves the boughs abos'e. 

At last it plunges in a dark abyss. 

And throws amid the cliffs that rise around, 

The gaiiy colour'd spray, 

As sets the evening sun. 

'Tis lost — for in a hoarse-resounding cave, 
Retiring from the ken of mortal eye, 
It hides its manly flood 
Within the mountain's womb. 

Thus the bright youth, whom genius raises high 
Above the ignoble throng, that grovel roundj 
Passes his boyish days 
mn playful jnaoceiicer 



To him, the mellow flute's melodious laj, 
The fair one's sweetly utter'd song of love, 
•Are charming as the strains, 
That heavenly angels sing. 

To bim the cool retired grotto's sli!l 
And gloomy solitude, is svceeter far, 
Than all the pomp of wealth, 
Than all the glare of pride. 

Unnotic'd and unknown he tunes his IjrCj 
And weaves the lovely hymn of melody, 
Unheard but by the grove, 
That shields him from the sun. 

But when his genius forms the manly song, 
And from hi? lips the patriot accents breathe, 
He seeks the mountain's brow. 
And dwells amid the storm. 

Thus fair he rises, like the tow'ring pine, 
That on Monadnook courts the cloudless sky^ 
And fondly hopes to gain 
The his;heet seat of fame. 



By disappointment sunk into the grave. 
And, crush'd by power and pride, 
He slumbers in the dust. 



TO THE ROSE. 

I. 20 

TENDER rose-bud! sweetly blooming- 
Drooping with the dews of morn, I 
Kvery sighing gale perfuming, " 
As it flullcrs routul thy thorn ;• - 



119 

Tencjer rose-bud ! soon thy blosjom, 
iS^ursM by dews, and fed by light, 
Will unfold Its velvet bosom, 
Spreading beauty to the sight. 

Then, sweet bud, FH softly pluck thee. 
Drooping low with early dew ; 
Then to Mary wjU I give thee, 
She, whose cheek is thine own hue. 

When th-e dew-drops, sweetly shining,. 
Gently to my lips are prest, 
In thev/oodbine bow'r reclining, 
1 will lay thee ou her breast. 

Could I, like thee, 

Rest upon her bosom fair, 

Like the bee its sweetness stealing, 

I -would dwell forever there. 



ir. £0 

FAIREST Nymph of lovely Flora, 
Brig^Uest beauty of the spring, 
See, around thy kindling glory, , 
How the zephyr sports bis wing, - 

When Aurora gaily flushes, 
Jlit>ing from her saffron bed, 
O ! what richly crimson blushes 
Wanton round thy drooping head. 

When the morning-glory closes. 
In !he sultry noontide air, 
O ! h>w soft the bee reposes, 
liHufflming oq thy bosom fairo 



120 

When the zephyrs, gently blowing, 
All the sweets of nature bring, 
Hound thy virgin beauties glowing, 
See, the hummer spreads his wing. 

"When the breezy breath of morning 
Calls him to his airy flight, 
How his hues, thy bloom adorning, 
Glitter in the dawning light. 

"When the evening shades are blending 
In the gay enamelPd west, 
See, (he dews of night descending, 
Softly slumber on thy breast. 

Blooming Nature's sweetest blossom- 
Let me pluck, in morning's hour, 
To adorn Maria's bosom, 
Thy enchanting dewy flow'r. 



HI. 21 

SEE, the rose is freshly glowing 
Through its veil of morning dew; 
Round it perfum'd gales are blowing, 
tweeter ne'er in Eden blew. 

May has clad the tangled bow'r 
In a robe of softest green, 
lilended every early flow'r, 
But the rose is Flora's queeu. 

Show'rs of bloomy snow descending 

From the pear-tree deck the mead, 

Honey-suckles richly blending 

^y^ave their many tinctured brede. M 



12i 

When the first spring cloud is flying, 
"What the flow'r that freshest glows ? 
Sweet when bioonaing, sweet when dying', 
O I the fair Idalian rose. 

See the sylph on emerald pinions 
Lightly woo the flow'rets smile, 
Ranging Flora's bright dominions, 
Sip at each and stay awhile : 

W hen the rose's breathing blossom 
By his ruby throat is prest, 
Lights he on its yielding bosom, 
Furls his wings and sinks to rest. 

Though the exotic bow'r adorning ^ 
India's richest blossom glows, 
Give me, wet with dews of morning, 
Give, O ! give tlie breathing rose. 



i SAW a f.ow'r of softest hue 
Within a lonely vale, 
Around its head serenely blew 
The evening's dewy gale ; 
The gem was sparkling in its belJ, 
'Twas like the mourner's tear, 
And like the dirge of sorrow, fell 
The zephyr on my ear. 

The scene that bloom'd around was calaa. 
The sky was softly blue. 
The zephyr breath'd its sweetest bain?: 
And gently fell the dew ; 

h 



T22 

At tbatmikl hour, when lovers 11b 
fJeneulh the maple shade, 
'J his modest flow'ret met my eje^ 
I'his beauty of the glade. 

With careful, trembling hand, I raisM 
"■J'he fiow'ret from its bed. 
And on its weeping beauties gaz'd, 
And kiss'd its ba.lmy head ; 
Then laid it gently on my heart, 
And press'd the treasure there, 
And whisper'd, "we will never part. 
Thou fairest of the fair I 

Though pale the tints, that deck thy leaf 

Upon its grwmd of snow, 

Thy dew drops like the tear of grief, 

That gems the eye of woe, 

Though thou TecalPst the dying bed, 

"Where mourners weep sincere. 

The chamber, where the pail is spread, 

And dirges sooth the ear^ 

For this sweet flower ! I love thee more 

Within the lonely vale, 

"When bending o'er the rivMet's shore, 

) list the turtle's wail; 

For round thy unobtrusive form 

Soft-breathing odours dwell. 

Beauties that like enchantment warni; 

And caim the bosom's swell. 



123 



^Onjxnding the Anemone IIepatica, the earu' 
est Jloicer of Spring. 

20 
BESIDE a fauing bank of snow 
A lovely Anemone blew, 
Unfolding to the suns bright glow 
Its leaves of heaven's serenest hue ; 

The snowy stamens gemm'd (hem o'er. 
The pleasing contra3t caught my eye. 
As on the oceans sandy shore 
The purple shells and corals Jie. 

I saw the flower — what tumults rose 
"VVithin my heart, what extacy ; 
The captive soul no brighter glows, 
When hailing life and liberty. 

'Tis spring, I cried, pale w4nter'«'fled, 
The earliest wreath of flow'rs is blown, 
The blossoms withered long and dead 
Will soon proclaim their tyrant flown. 

How smiles the sun in yonder sky, 
How purs the vault of Ether swells, 
How sweet to hear on mountain high 
The tinkle of the shepherd-bells. 

The meadow's don their green arrajr 
The streams in purer currents flow ; 
On sunny knolls the lambkins play, 
And sport amid the vales below. 

The humble anemone blows. 
The blue-bird now is on the wing, 
How soon will breathe the blushing roie. 
How soon will all around be 6prit>s ! 



124 



To the Gektiana Crinita, the last flower of 
Autumn* 

SWEET flow*ret of the waning year, 
Last blossom of the fading plains, 
The leaves are falling wan and sere, 
And the lone widow'd bird complains; 

Still thou art dearer to my heart, 
Than all the sweets the spring unveils J 
Thy blooms a softer mood impart, 
Than violets breathing in the vales. 

There is a melancholy grace, 
That spreads thy lonely petals o'er ; 
Tliey tell that winter comes apace, 
That soon will rise the tempest's roar. 

The flow'rs decay, the fields are bare, 
The humble violet fears to blow, 
The woods no more their honours wear, 
Light rustling fall the leaves below. 

Still thou unfold'st thy lovely leaf, 
^nd smil'st amid the fields alone, 
' hcu seem'st some weeping child of grief, 
i'hat mourns her every comfort tlown. 

Had I not rov'd the desert plain, 
Where 'neath the hedge you svireetly blew. 
Your petals had been spread in vain, 
Your only guest the evening dew. 

Or when amid the leafless wood 
The bluebird chirp'd with drooping wing, 
He might have o'er thy beauty stood, 
And cung his lay and thought it spring. 



125 

How richly purple is thy hue, 
Thy fringe like beauty's ebon ray?, 
Where the eje's lustre glances througbj 
And meeker shines its living blaze. 

In vain the pencil would essay 
To give thy form its native grace ; 
How weaker still the feeble lay, 
That would thy mellow features trace. 

Where e'er I meet thee on the plains, 
Thy beauties to my soul how dear ; 
How worthy thou of higher strains, 
Sweet floweret of the waning year. 



CAN I touch my harp again ? 

Can I wake its mellow strain ? 

In the damp it long has hung, 

Long its chords have been unstrung ; 

Moss around its frame has twin'd, 

It has only felt the wind, 

Ail its soothing tones have slept 

In the shade where devvs have wept. 

Scarce a sigh the wind has breath'd 

Through its strings, by grasses wreath'd ; 

Though it long unus'd has lain, 

I will touch my harp again. 

I will touch my harp again, 

Wake it to a cheerful strain 

Like the whispering breeze, that flings 

Sweetness from its waving wings, 

It stiail shed on all around 

Notes that softly, sweetly sound. 

Come my harp and let cae try. 



126 

If ray fingers now can fly, 

As they could when youth was high. 

Age has numbM them — cankering care 

Chill'd my heart, and planted there, 

('Stead of love and joy and pleasure, 

.Mirth that wakes the frolic measure?) 

^Sorrow for a world of woe. 

And grief, whose tears forever flow : 

Spite of this, a cheerful straia 

Shall my harp awake again. 

Autumn smiles, the sky is blue- 
Let rac for an hour or two 
Draw thee from thy rest of years, 
Erush away thy dewy tears, 
Brighten up thy chords again. 
And wake them to a cheerful straino 
*i'h«y will bid my sorrows fly, 
Thqy will light my fading eye ; 
€3n!y for a fleeting hour 
Xet me feel their soothing pow'r ; 
Let roe, while they breathe of love, 
All my griefs, my woes remove ; 
Though the joy is short, 'tis dear— 
'^Jease to flow thou falling tear, 
■*-'or I wake my harp again 
.','a a sweetly soothing strain. 



vilVE me the lyre of harmony 
i'ocalm <l;e pa??ions of my sou], 
V ! wwke 'tis choral symphony, 
And bid it with my griefs condole. 

Sweet are the echoes of its strings, 
fcweet as the sylvan choir of May, 
When on the rose the robin sings. 
And halls with song the rising day. 



127 

'ind though the storm, that gathers round. 
Be cold as winter's blasting wind, 
Still can this lyre's bewitching sound 



Though love is fled and friends are gone, 
This lyre, my solace, lingers nigh— 

I leave me not to droop alone, 
But be thy music whispering by. 

And what shaH ease my troubled heart ? 
Shall Roslin's voice of sorrow flow, 
Or shall thy trembling chords impart 
A deeper, darker strain of woe. 

1 bear it swell—the death-march rings, 
The muffled drum is roiling by. 

The burning tear of sorrow springs 
And trickles from the melting eye. 

The bier, with slow and solemn tread, 
Attir'd in sables, steals along, 
And o'er the grave's cold, earthy bed, 
The minstrel pours his broken song. 

The notes ascend — (he shriek and scream, 
Alternate mingle in the lay ; 
They fall — like night's unreal dream, 
The wail of ang^uish melts away. 

Again it strikes the watchful ear, 
Couvuls'd with sobs and choaked with sighs 5 
What bursts of agony I hear, 
A groan, as when a sinner dies. 

How sweet, when sorrow clouds the soiJj 
To hear thy strains funeral flow. 
To hear the bur^t of anguish roll^ 
And listen to the wail of woe. 



128 

And when ray heart is flowing o'er, 
Come — weave thy choral symphony, 
Come — bid my bosom ache no more, 
Thou witching lyre of harmony. 



CvlY heart is sad, my harp is stiii, 
it bangs upon the willow tree ; 
ZVo hand shall wake its lively trill, 
iVo strain shall e'er enliven me. 

The serpent care has stung my heart, 
And left his venom in my soul ; 
No bhlm can heal (he cruel smart, 
No hand my bosom's pangs control. 

No — I must sit me down and die, 
Far better, far — to die, than live ; 
For-death is but a pang ^nd sigh, 
And what can life beside them give '' 

Far better, far — to close our eyes, 
And slumber in the dust below ; 
3n peace the toil-worn sufferer liefj 
la death he found his kindest foe. 

li.eii let me dry my tears and wake 
IVIy harp to some funereal strain, 
Then all its chords of sweetness breakj 

An<l ccek the iileut grave £.?a?R, 



1^ 

TO SENECA LAKE. 22 

ON thy fair bosom, silver lake ! 
Tlie wild swan spreads his snowy sail. 
And round his breast the ripples break, 
As down he bears before the gale. 

On thy fair bosom, waveless stream ! 
The dipping: paddle echoes far, 
And flashes in the mooniight gleam, 
And bright reflects the polar star. 

The waves along thy pebbly shore, 

As blows the north-wind, heave the;ir foam) 

And curl around the dashing oar, 

As late the boatman hies him home. 

JIow sweet, at set of sun, to view 
J hy golden mirror spreading wide, 
And see Ihe mist of mantling blue 
Float round the distant mountain's side. 

At midnight-hour, as shines the raooD, 
A sheel of silver spreads below. 
And swift she cuts, at highest noon, 
Light clouds, like wreaths of purest snc^v^ 

On thy fair bosotn, silver lake \ 
O 1 could I ever sweep the oar, 
"When early birds at morning wake. 
And evenin^r tells ua toil is o''er. 



130 

BOAT SONG, 22 

WE rest at Peter's point to night- 
Blow light, ye winds ! How siaooth, ye billows I 
The promis'd head land heaves in sight, 
Where we shall stay, till morning light, 
And bind our bark beneath the willows. 
Heave, boatmen I heave, and sweep the oar ;, 
Soon we shall drown all care and sorrow. 
Bend to the willow-border'd shore, 
And there repose till early morrow. 

We rest at Peter'^s point to night— 

And now we hear i(s billows breaking j 

The golden sun is setting bright, 

The wild swans take their homeward ilight,. 

The owl her fonely hoot is waking. 

Heave, boatmen 1 heave, and sweep the oar. 

And da«h the white foam from the billows ; . 

Bend to tiie soft and sandy shore, 

And bind the bark beneath the willows. 

And now the boat draws nigh to land. 
The winds blow light and kiss the billows , 
The boatmen leap upon the strand, 
And draw their bark upon the sand, 
And bind it fa?t beneath the willows. 
"Now, boatmen 1 rest upon the oar., — 
The sun has set, your toils are over. 
Eat, drifik, and dream of care no more, 
^nd sing, *' how gay the western rover ' '" 



131 



so 

T«ey say, that esteem is a diamond so bright. 
It enkindles the eye, that by sorrow is shaded ; 
But glory to me is the sun's dazzling light, 
That illumines a world, which in darkness had 
faded . 

You may dwell on esteem's twinkling diamond* 

who will, 
And love the faint gleam of its scarce-living 

fire : 
I gaze on the Sun's dazzling brilliancy still, 
And ask no esteem, if the world but admire. 

Esteem is the dew-drop, that freshens the 

flow'r ; 
Admiration, the arnh'd hues, that splendidlp 

shine. 
The one is a sprinkle, the other a show'r— 
Let mine be the rainbow, the dew may be thine. 

Esteem is a maiden, whose blue melting eye. 

When she smiles or she weeps, all iu languish- 

ment moves ; 
Admiration, a beauty, whose iove-arrows %, 
Like the falcoa-glance, killing wherever sh" 

roves. 

One's cheek is a rose, that is shaded with dew ; 

The other's a russet with vermil tints brighten- 
ing. 

One's eye is an orb softly, tearfuliv blue ; 

The other's jet-black, but it flashes like I'-ghU 
Dins;. 



132 

One's air is so melting, so mournfully sweet— 
You love and you pity, but cannot admire ; 
la tbe other, such soul-killing blandishmeals 

meet, 
'Jhat she wakes in the breast every wild-raging 

fire. 

Then talk as fhey will of esteem's gentle form, 
As those eyes, that so tenderly, meltingly roll : 
Let mine be the sun-burst, the bolt of i\\e storm, 
'i'hat dazzleSj astounds, and subdues every soul. 



20 
TI9 morning, and all is gay around— 
The sun-beam flames on the billow, 
And sparkles along the dewy g^round, 
"While I'm dreaming on my pillow ; 
The music, that breathes, cannot bid me wake, 
Though like syren melody closing. 
While slumber's soft wings all their opiatss 

shake 
O'er the couch, where I'm reposing : 
But nature wears her loveliest smile, 
The smile of her maiden beauty, 
And while she invites by the softest wile, 
1 htur the loud call of duty : 
Then I'll sleep not beneath the morning's beam.. 
That smiles like afiection upon me ; 
ISor longer lie wrapt in slumber's dream, 
Though she shower all her roses on mc. 

Jt is sweeter to breathe the balmy breeze 
Than to dream of the brightest vision; 
And dearer to view the wide-waving trees^ 
Thau fancy's scenes elysian : 



133 

Though the one every hue of loveliness wears, 
Though like bloomy Eden charming ; 
Yet she leaves us too soon to think of our cares. 
While her softness the heart is disarming : 

1 who would be happy in fancy alone, 
When reality's self can delight us, 

Or be charmM with a smile, that is instantly 

tlown, 
When long-living beauties invite us ; 
Then I'll sleep not, k.€. 

How oft in my childhood's lovely days, 

AVhcn I woke with the lark from my slunabe^s, 

1 lo\'d the sun's first-btightening rays, 
And the warbler's waking numbers ; 
And while each dewy bush and brake 
Was vocal with sounds of gladness, 
And while the sun glow'd on the lake, 
How could I be sunk in sadness : 

O ! in morning's earliest, brightest dawn, 
There are charms more sweetly smiling, 
Than in dearest scenes by Fancy drawn, 
Though like beauty's self beguiling; 
Then I'll sleep not, &lc. 

Now the birds are singing their amorous notes 
Amid the boughs wide-waving : 
And the whisper'd sigh of the zephyr floats 
Where the brooks their banks are laving ; 
And now is the tim'^', when all is bright 
And ill softest peace reposing, 
To kindle affection's purest light, 
Where the sprays of the bower are closing • 
Then love will burn with a bnghler ray. 
And smile with a fiance more tender. 
And dearer charms his features play, 
While our hearts to his sway vve render* 
M2 



134 

Then I'll sleep not beneath the morning's beamj 
That smiles like afiection upon me ; 
Nor lonjrer lie wrapt in slumber's dream, 
Thouirh she shower all her roses on me. 



20 
^* WHY slnmbers thy lyre, which so often re- 
sounded 
With the trill of delight and the warble of love, 
By Avhose lively numbers the heart featiy 

bounded, 
Which so often the sweet wreath of melody 
^vove. 

W^hy sleeps it so silently ? Is there no lover, 
That a^ks for its strain with his heart to 

condole? 
Are there no light pinions, that carelessly hover 
To wake all its sweetness and kindle its soul? 

Why hangs on the willow thy harp of delight? 
Why loves it the gloom of those low-drooping 

boughs ? 
Why hides it ?o deeply in shadows of night, 
And asks for no hand its wild sweetness to rouse ? 

Kas the hand of th^bard lost its magical skill ? 
is it palsied with sickness, or nerveless with 

wne ? 
Are its fingers benumb'd by cold poverty's chill, 
That thev 1 'd cot its wtid notes enchantingly 

flow"^^" 

« 



135 

" "Tis not sickness or sorrow, that palsies my 
arm ; 

'Tis not poverty's winter, that weakens its 
powers ; 

'Tis what can the hero's bold spirit disarra, 

And start the salt tear in love's amaranth- 
bowers. 

'Tis because no sweet pa?ans are swelling my 

fame, 
No halo of glory encircles my brow ; 
'Tis because no dear maid fondly dwells on my 

name, 
Kindly smiles when we meet, and repeats the 

warm vow. 

"When my spirits are sunk, when despondency 

reigns, 
I hang up my harp en the low-drooping willow. 
How can I then waken its soft-breathing sf rains ? 
How can pleasure look smiling on grief's thorny 

pillow ? 

Should I tune my sweet harp — how discordant 

would sound 
AH its chords, when the demon is wringing ny 

soul ; 
The strain would depress even Mirth's' lightest 

bound. 
And sadden the eyes that in estacy roll. 

When you hear no light strain from, mj grot 

gently flow. 
When you scarce hear a breath in the v.'illovv's 

dark grove ; 
Then know, that my bosom is bursting with 

woe, 
Tot fruitless jimbition and fond bopekss bve^ 



136 

MThen scarce a faint warble is heard on the wire, 
And sounds o'er the chords slowly, dyingly 

move— 
O ! there's nofhins; can kindle anew my lost fire, 



AN IMPRECATION. 20 

■13MIIII fare thee well forever, 
From fhy walls withjoy l go, 
Every tie 1 freely sever, 
Fl^'ing from thy den of woe. 

Tliou my swelling heart hast riven, 
Tern my every hope away ; 
May, for tliis, the arm of Heav'n, 
Mark thee for its destined prey. 

May tiie knell of ruin tolling, 
Wake thee from thy feverish dream, 
While (he awful bolt is rolling, 
\ii(i (he hags of vengeance scream. 

May the bird of desolatioii, 
On its -wings of ebon hut.'. 
Shrieking death and devastation, 
Kest and hover over you. 

May the owl, at midnight screaming. 
Lighting on yon lofty (owV, 
Tell <'ach sou), in horrc^r dreaming, 
How the cloudi of ruin low'r. 

..lay an awAil bolt of (hundcr 

!• T'/m tliose clouds of blackness bvrsf, 

lUiiding all tliy walls asunder, 

- * '— '.ht;rij ij Termless dust. 



137 

When (hy walls and lurrets, riveil 
By that bolt, 1o earth are hurl'd, 
R-uin's share, in fury driven, 
Blot thy naern'ry from the world. 

May a foe, like Gaul's dark legions, 
Or the swarthy fiends of hell, 
Issuing from (he infernal region?, 
Though (hy streets at midnight yelL 

May thy bell, its curfew ringing, 
Sound as by a Demon strook, 
And each wre(ch, from slumber springing, 
5(art — as if an earthquake shook. 

Wrapp'd in gory pheets of lightning. 
While curst night-hags ring thy knell, 
Mty the arm of vengeance bright'ning 
O'er thee wave (he sword of Hell. 

May a sudden inundation 
Rise in many a roaring wave, 
And with hurried devastation 
Whelm thy thousands in the grave. 

When the fiood, in fury swelling, 
Heaves their corpses on the shore, 
May fell Hysens madly yelling 
Tear their limbs and drink their gore. 

While starv'd hounds the moon are baying', 
Foxes yell, and gaunt wolves howl. 
May the nighted wand'rcr stra}ing 
Slarde at the tyger's growl. 

When the moon, in crimson gleaming, 
Rises in the gloomy east, 
Thro' thy vaults may spectres streoniin,'' 
Seek in yawniog troves their feast. 



138 

Through thy ruin'd mansions prowling^ 
Where foui spirits Jove to tread, 
May lean wolves, and tygers growling 
Gnash their teeth and tear the dead. 

ismir I land of curst deceivers, 
"^Vhere the sons of darkness dwell, 
?Iope, the cherub's base bereavers— 
Hateful citv I fare thee well. 



DESPOxNDENCY. 

1. 20 

IT is not mirth, can case my heavy woes, 
Or calm the throbbing tumults of my breast ; 
O ; there is nought that can njy eyelids close. 
Or rock my spirits to a peaceful rest ; 
Xo — life appears in ebon colours drest, 
' .;er€''e- I tern ray woe-worn aching sights 
'ie morning dawns by every grief opprest, 
I sombre t'.vilight fades to cheerless night, 
reft of every joy and void of each delight, 

:Ieas!ire meet my ever-weeping eye, 
-- e a dPiJQon lurking 'neath its fiow'rs ; 
iO sraile of joy but ^vakes the heavy sigh, 
\:,d seems as sad as when the tempest low'rs : 
U 1 there is nothing in love's rosy bow'rs, 
Taa charm my heart, or blunt grief's poison'd 

si'ijgs ; 
■ espaireach cup of bliss with naisery sours, 
And o'er the scene a shade of sorrow fiings, 
Vvh;!^ fvi^r .ir my ear the kneli of ruio ling;?. 



139 

1 Low I love to ponder o^'er the tomb, 
And view the ciay that wraps my Ellen's form ; 
Sweet to my soul the yews funereal gloom, 
And lovely to my sight the coming storm ; 
The smiling flow'r would but her grave deform, 
its gayest charms would give me no delight, 
No warbling sound my frozen heart could warm ; 
But O ! how dear the owlet's silent flight, 
The lonely turtle's wai!, the deepest s>hade of 
night. 

Cease, comforter ! to pour thy honey'd straJDj 
But whisper sorrow's accents in my ear ; 
O ! let me hear the mournful lute conriplain, 
And breathe the sound that starts the sudden 

tear. 
Can aught that's gay or cheerful now be dear r 
Think you, this world will ever please me more ? 
No — let me rest upon my Ellen's bier, 
O ! let me hasten to that peaceful shore. 
Where hush'd is every etorm, and still the tern- 

pest's roar. 



II. SO 

O I I could hide me in the darkest cave, 
And weep till grief my heavy eyelids close ; 
My only solace is the gloomy grave, 
'Tis there alone my heait can find repose : 
Life is a dreary w^ilderness of woes — 
No flow'r of friendship blossoms on the W'!d, 
Despair's dark wave in freezing current flows, 
Where mercy ne'er the orphan hearJ beguil'd, 
Where Pity never wept, and friendship never 
smil'd, 

What is 8 friend ? A hollo w-liearled thing, 
That smiles aad smiles, when fortune's look is 
fair ; 



140 

But when the knell of ruin 'gins to ring, 
Those Ij'in^ lips no smiles nor simpers wear; 
Can I this cruel coldness longer bear? 
Ah 1 shall I bend and scarcely dare complain? 
No — for the horrors of the grave I dare, 
I long that dreary, still abode, to gain. 
Where friends shall ne'er deceive nor flatterer's 
mock again. 

To play upon a soul, that feels like mine, 
To raise its hopes, then brn«h them all away— 
To charm it with a transient rainhow's shine ; 
It is a devil's sport, a demon's play. 
►Sport with the soul that's never sad nor gay, 
But alway plods in life's dulljoyless road, 
That never smiPd in pleasure's shining ray, 
That ne'er was chillM with grief, with passion 

glow'd — 
But leave the feeling mind to its own thoughts 

and God. 



r.IETHOUGHT 'twas in the desert, at the 

hour 
Of universal stillness — the repose 
Of hving nature — with a dead'ning pow'r, 
7'iie hand of ruin press'd me, and the throes 
Of parting life seera'd passing by — the grave 
Had half enthrall'd me — o'er my fioking head 
The dust of everlasting death was thrown ; 
A moment's consciousness — thpi\ being fled, 
The last Aveak thought evanish'd and the groaa] 
Of dying nature ceas'd. — 1 stood alone, 

And seera'd, how long I know not, in the tomb 
Of nothing — thought and consciousness 'and liie 
Btirr^d 'act the deaduess of my soul ; the \voai-b 
Of endless night reciev'd mc. and the strife, 



141 

Of leaving all we know for , was slid ; 

The feeling of the present and the past 
Alike had fled before rae, and the will 
To do what sense refus'd to do, the vast, 
O'erwhelnoing view of ceaseless darkness, all 
The hopes of better. — Then oblivion's pall 

Seem'd drawn around noe, and the sullen shroud 
Of dim forgetfulness, and from the sight 
Of man I was withdrawn forever ; proud 
Of standing on an eminence, the height 
Of genius, I had sunk and in the night 
Of gloom interminable my memory lay. 
How all those golden blossoms, by the blight 
Of a cold cankering wind, had pass'd away ; 
And now not even one form shall come and tel^, 
This was the fatal spot, where I arose and fell. 



THE SUICIDE'S GRAVE. 1 7 

'TWAS at the dark, the solemn hour, 
When midnight throws its gloom around, 
"When the deep-frowning tempests lour, 
And the shrill-whistling winds resound 
Along the forest drear, and o'er the Ijnc:j 

grave ; 
AVhen even the courage of the brave 
Sinks 'nealh the pressure of the sullen ehade ; 
"When the heart's deceitful visions fade — 
Visions of bliss by mortals never kriown, 
Since virtue from the earth had flown. 
And anger bar'd his blood-distilling blade ; 



142 

i.one I wander'd by the tomb, 

Where a wretch, who, with iils kecn-ed^M 

knife, 
Loos'd the bands that bind the soul to life, 
And plungM himself in misery's deepest gloorc, 
SUimber'd in sleep of death profound; 
Which shall ne'er awake, 
Tiil the earth's foundations shake, 
And the last trumpet cleaves the solid ground, 

A grisly spectre met my staring sight, 

Dim as the purple meteor of the night, 

In robe of gory crimson clad ; 

Ills clotted hands were smear'd with red, 

His eye-balls roll'd in frenzy mad, 

ills hollow voice seem'd issuing from the dead, 

*< Shun the gloomy thought, that loves to prey 

On the heart, and eats the soul away, 

if you dread a living hell, 

jNor with misery love to dwell." 

He said — and from the tomb 
Three yells, like Hyaens rushing on their prey, 
Burst their rapid way. 
It ?eem'd as if the womb, 
Of those eternal realms of woe and pain, 
Where agonizing demons reign, 
Had cleav'd its iron walls again. 
iSoon he vanish'd from my eye, 
In a shovv'r of blood that stained the sk}*. 
Dreadful was the sight 
Of that lonely night, 
.Now in ebon darkness veii'd. 
Now v.ith crimson overspread ; 
So dreadful, that the stoutest heart had quail'd, 
And even the undaunted brave in breathless 
terror fled. 



3S2»l#IIg* 



ON MY FATHER'S TOMB. 20 

^O splendid ?tone adorns this honour'd dustj 
)r points me, where my father's relics lie ; 
S^'o beauteous urn, or nicely sculptur'd bust 
lecaii his once-lov'd image to my eye. 

lat memory stiU his features can impart, 
A'hen by his evenina: fire he sv/eetiy smil'd, 
)r when with irerious look and swelling heart 
ie kindly cbeck'd the warulVingj of his child. 

\h : there are those, who ^ratef^lly can te!!, 
:iow oft his skill detain'd the parting; breaih, 
L^cnnpos'd the lcrtur''d bosonrs's throbbicigsxveil, 
\ad smootii'd to soft repose the bed of dealh. 

I^an tell, how oft he eas'd the racking pain, 
Flow oft he coolM the fever's biirnin* glow, 
\nd bade fair health revisit once again 
rhe hapless child of sickness and of woe. 

\ll these can speak — although no splendid tomb 

Recount his virtues or adorn bis grave, 

!*^o yew-trees weave their dark funereal g]ocui> 

Ngr bending Vi^iilov/s o'er his re'ics "^ra-tc^ 



144 

17 

SEE how the flow'ret blushes in the morn — 
A thousand colours o'er its bosom play ; 
i^ut soon these hues, that nature's robe adorn, 
Rent by the Avinds, are scatterM far away. 

'Tis thus with beauty, Itively, transient flower — 
Flow soon, alas ! its maiden sweetness flies ; 
How soon it fades in life's declining hour. 
And in the dust a witherinir rose-bud lies. 



THE MOURNER. 

£0 
LOW sinks the ?un beneath the -western wave, 
And twilight deepens in the eastern sky ; 
Pale is the gloom that shades yon lonely grave, 
Where twin'd in death two lovely sisters lie. 

Slow -wave the boughs above their clay-cold 

bed, 
And sighing zephyrs breathe a mournful sound ; 
Hush'd is each song — each beam of day is fled. 
And chilly dew-drops softly fall around. 

->.5 fades the gleam of day, the cypress gloom 
Weaves its dark curtain o'er the lonely grave ; 
Pale moon-beains sadly glisten on the tomb, 
vi evening mists the weeping marble lave. 

ihere bending o'er the turf, where violets shed 
ru^ir sweetest fragrance on the passing gale, 
A pensive maiden droops her downcast head, 



145 

Ksr cheek is white — no rose is blushing there. 
The tear of grief has dimru'd her sparkling eye, 
Loose o'er her shoulders falls her flowing hair, 
Faiut from her lips is heard the feeble sigh. 

Sweet mourner! — thou hast lost thy joy — ihy 

all; 
iVo sister now shall meet thee with her smile, 
Ne'er shalt thou run at Mary's gentle call, 
No more shall Laura's voice thy heart begA)i!e. 

Cold 15 that lip, where play'd the smile of love — 
I'ale is that cheek, which vied the rose of 

May — 
QueTich'd is that eye, once meekly rais'd 

above — 
HushM is that voice — that soul has flown away. 

How calm they sleep — the storm is heard no 

more ; 
This world shall never bid them weep again : 
This scene of toil and weariness is o'er, 
Sooth'd into heaven's own pesfce is every pain. 

Then let thy tears, dear maid ! no longer flow : 
Would'st ttiou confine a soul that seeks the 

sky- 
Would'st thou recall it to a world of woe, 
And dim with grief that now exulting eye? 

Nay, dry thy tears — for see they bend in love, 
And di'op the dew of pity on tliy head ; 
'i'heir love the tenderness that smiles above — 
'i'heir tears the crystal drops that angels shed. 

How sweetly sleep (heir forms in death en^hrin'd, 
And as they lov'd in this dark vale of woe, 
So 'neath the heaving clod in death entwin'd, 
^\nd iock'd in love's eajbrace, 

N 



146 

Thej could not part — Heaven saw with pitting 

eye 
How fond they lov'd, and joined their souls in 

death, 
And kindiy bade the sad survivor's sigh, 
Become the dying Christian's parting breath. 

Slow on the breeze the bending willows wave, 
That marble monument how coldly fair, 
Still is that tomb and dark that lonely grave. 
But meek Religion smiles serenely there — 

Still flow thy tears, a brother birls them flow, 
He, who was once so dear, is now no more ; 
Safe he is rescu'd from this world of woe, 
And let us hope has found a happier shore,. 

Far — far from thee he clos'd his dying eye, 
No sister's hand was there to give relief; 
But stiil Affection o'er him breath'd her sigh, 
And weeping Fondness shed the tears of grief. 

Friends who could calm his heart, and dry his 

tear, 
Around his dying couch in sorrow stood, 
O'er him that form, his bosom held most dear, 
Low bending wept allectiou's purest flood. 

Soft was the pillow, where his parting breath 
Hung faintly trembling on his lips of snow ; 
Bereft of half its stings, the dart of death 
Deep in his bosom gave the fatal blow. 

His eye is dim — his cheek has lost its glow, 
Cold is his stiflTen'd hand, and mute his tongue, 
White as the waving drift of mountain snow, 
Those lips where sounds oi love and sweetness 
hung. 



147 



His soul — here darkness spreads her .gloomy veil, 
But Hope, the cherub, points to worlds on high, 
lie may be happy — cease thy plaintive wail, 
Aod wipe the tear of anguish from thy eye. 



21 

SLOW through the twilight gloom Valerie's 

knell 
Swells in heart-rending peals along the gale; 
It summons me to take my last farewell, 
And with the mourners blend roy feeling' wail. 

Gone is ray only friend, my dearest mate, 
With whom, a child, I prattled o'er the plain, 
Or 'rieath the village shade attentive sat, 
And lisping conn'd well-pleasM the rural strain. 

With whom I turnM the classic volumes o'er, 
And drew from Maro's verse a noble tlame ; 
Wjth whom ia Alma's walls the palm I bore, 
And keenly struggled for collegiate fam ?. 

Dear were the days in mutual kindness spent ; 
How fair they rise to retrospective view '. 
When each to each our aid we kind'y lent, 
Unconscious of the hours that o'er us flew. 

How oft we wept at Orpheus' plaintive ta':, 
How oft, for hapless Dido's slighted love ; 
How often knew i'ue mora! muse prevai!. 
And felt our kiiid'liug spirits mount above ; 

How often lov'd the Teian's mellow strain, 

And Flaccus' happy elegance admired ; 

Or drove >vith Ho.-aer o'er the embattled plaic, 

Our sauls aacobkd and our bosoms f:r'd. 



148 

On Ovid's mournful strain we fondly liung, 

When banish'd to Euxina's dreary shore, 

lie swept his careless hand o'er chords ill- 

strunj. 
And bade his harp his hopeless fate deplore. 

Warm was that heart which soon is wrapp'd in 

clay; 
For want he always had a boon to give ; 
lie took with freest choice fair Virtue's way^ 
And listen'd to the words that bid us live. 

Whenever nature's wonders met his view, 
With eye effulgent as the star of even, 
}Ii3 pious £^lance serene he upward threw, 
And trac'd the chain of causes back to heaveOi 

Forgive, dear shade ! this lisping of thy praise — 
Thou little need'st the plaudits of thy friend ; 
But dei£;n, when cloth'd in glory's cloudless 

blaze, 
A guardian angel e'er my form to bend. 



21 
JflARD is t!ie Foet's fate — but more severe 
To iuckldss bard, who muses here, the doom ; 
liung he may shed the ineffectual tear, 
Then starve and sink unnoticed to the tomb. 

What though his genius burn'd with dazzling 

■ light, 
And vied with those who grac'd imperial 

Rome : 
Wealth he neglected, and the heedless v/ight 
Must siek in bridewtU or the grave his heme. 



149 

Bui if we spurn the livings, shall the dead 
jVe'er claim from us the tribute of a sigh ? 
Taste by exotic streams alone is fed — 
Each tongue is mute, and every cheek is dry. 

We might, when years have roll'd around his 

' tomb, 
Should foreign critics deign to crown his bust, 
Or should their praise his withering bays illumCj 
Drop one scant tear upon tlie Poet's dust. 



muse, 
May yield a stinted tribute to his fame. 
And 'neath the shelter of low-bending yews 
Erect a wooden altar to his name. 

Shame on my country .'—shall ignoble gain 
Be all that charms or wakes the voice ©f praise? 
O ! wilt thou never hear the poet's strain. 
And weave for him Columbia's native bays ? 



22 
THE last blue hill is fading iu the sky, 
"^i'he shores are melting in the distant ivave ; 
'Tis there thy lovely woods and meadows lie, 
Land of my birth, my home, my father's grave J 

But fate commands me, and I now must go 
And leave my friends and parent, all behmd ; 
Beneath my feet the waves of ocean flov/, 
And o'er them hounds tiie siiip before the wind. 

Land of my boyish days ! and must we part ! 
Must all thy fond endearments charm no more ^ 
Must I forego that estacy of heart, 
i felt with fricndj so often on thy shore ? 



150 

The ocean foams before me — there I i^Oc 
Who knows I ever shall return again ? 
Who knows what gloonay scenes of deepest woe 
Await me far — far distant o'er the main. 

But I must go — my land has bid me fly, 
The sword of justice drives me o'er the wave. 
Yes, I must go, in foreign lands to die, 
And find with stranger's cold, a tearless grave. 

How gush my tears — how throbs my feverM 

brain, 
To think n.y folly drove me from that shore : 
O ! I shall never sleep in peace again, 
Pleasure shall dawn and mercy smile no more. 

My prospects — O how fair ! the morning sun 
jNe'er shone more lovely on a world in bloom ; 
Jiut ere I left the goal my race was done, 
Mj scenes of pleasure changed to scenes of 
gloom. 

Justice pursues me— I must leave that shore, 
And trust my hopeless foriune to the wave ; 
O 1 how I long, when \i^e. shall all be o'er, 
G : how i lv«:; to rest me in the grave. 



21 

^"ARE-WOlirs, and sunk in deep despondency, 
'• bless the hours liiiit lay iny thought at rest 
\ woo the covert of a midnight sky, 
i-'uttiuk in fevtrish dreams by doubt distrust, 

' 'he pleasing mornio:: of my early days, 
.Vly oneiiing foitune'i: hi s^htand i^altering hloonu, 
iione are they all — and rr^uta the voice of praise. 
Hot'.' hard to oiiC; who shcrej tH* crjjcl doom.' 



161 

Wouici I were in some lonely desert born. 
And 'neath the sordid roof my being drew ; 
Were nurs'd by poverty the most forlorn, 
Aad ne'er one ray of hope or pleasure kneWe 

Then had my soul been never taught to rise ^ 
Then had i never dream'd of powV or fame ; 
No pictured scene of bliss deceived my eyes, 
Nor glory lighted in my breast its flame. 

What to the wretch like me this tow'ring mind ^ 
*Tis but a curse — a pang that racks the soul. 
Better in humble life to be resign'd 
To ceaseless toil, as rouud the seasons roll. 

Happy the life, that in a peaceful stream, 
Ob.-ccre. nnnotic'd, through the vale hasflowM t 
The heart that ne'er was charxu'd by fortune's 

gleam, 
Is ever sweet contentment's blest abode. 

But t-,an I leave ihe scenes, my fancy drew 
In colours rich a? heav'n and strong as light i 
Can I avert from fame my longing vie\s-, 
And pluoge again amid my native night f 

Hard is the pang that rends these links away. 
And humbling to my soul to rise no more ; 
How cruel to abandon wisdom's ray, 
And find my hopes, my fame, my prospetjrsr 



Tes, I must yield — but slowly I retire ; 
O ! can I dim the light that science gave ? 
O! can I quench my bosom's ardent lire .^ 
WelcoDae, ye i^alhs 1 tliat lead me to my gravc\ 



W2 

FAREWELL TO MY LYRE. 20 

LYRE of my soul ! the parting hour draws nigh, 
The hour (hat tears thy votary away — 
The hour when death shall close my fading eye. 
And wrap in earth wy cold and lifeless clay. 

I feel his icy finger? ciiill my heart, 
And curdle all the blood that warms my breast , 
Charm of my darkest moments I soon we part — 
Soon shall thy chords in endless silence rest. 

What if thy sounds have charm'd the coldest 

ear — 
What if they breath'd like melody divine — 
"What if they stole the fair one's purest tear, 
Or bads the downcast eye with pleasure shine ' 

Slil! I imiit sink in Death's unbroken sleep. 
And coldly slumber 'neath the hal!ov/'d ground ; 
And ihou must all thy chords in silence keep, 
Nor iweelly v,'ake thepi to the feeblest sound. 

icep in yorj cypress shade — its heavy gloom 
jjcomeiJ the awful stillness of the grave — 
Roit, where above yon maiden's early tomb,' 
Tiie wiiiow't, boughs in sorrow seem to wave. 

Ti')src should the faintlngzephyr.'vhisperinghyj 
Awake one note along thy tur.efu! string, 
Oil I be it sadder than the mourner's sigh, 
And in my ear like fcoeral dirges ring. 

T.ef not a trill of joy invade my ear, 

i:- gloomy hour ask? noihing of delight— 
,;^t all be hke the pall Hiat shades the bier. 
>r like the darkest canopy of night. 



153 

f^et rro sweet songster pour its wiicbing speri-« 
No voice of comfort to my spirit come ; 
Nought biit the echo of the passing bel], 
The hollow murmur of the muffled drum. 

And yet I seem to hear thy ceraph str-^iii 
Pour like a -gentle stream along the gale — 
It ceases — no^v its music walies again, 
And breathes as sweerly as the turtle's wail. 

Ai), I would brush thy chords and faintly wake 
To sounds ofjoy thy melody awhile — 
Would charm my heart a moment ere itbreak> 
And gild my dying features with a smile : 

But no I my hand refusss ; 'lis but clay— 
The touch of death has withered all its powVg- 
Soon will his wings my spirit waft away 
From thee — thou charmer of ray darkest hours I 

Farewell, thou lyre of sweetest minstrelsy ! 
Distraction calls, its snfTerer must obey— 
The ruthless hand of dark adversity 
Has chili'd my soul, and tore thy chords avy-iy - 

The mist of death, that hovers o'er ray ejc^ 
Withdraws thy lovely image from ray view, 
Like fancy's midnight dream, th' illusici) di:- ■■■ 
liyre of my soul, adieu 1 a long adiau. 



THE SUICIDE, 29 

'TWaS where a granite-cliff high-Jc-;*(iDg 

tower'd 
Above the billows of the western main. 
Deep in a grot, by sable yews imbower'd, 
A voatli letir'J to ponder and complaia 
O 



154 

'Twas r.est (he night fnll of a xvin(ef's day, 
The sun was^hid in clouds of' dunnest gloom ; 
Before the north-wind rose the wihiteoing sproj , 
And (he loud breaksr- roarM Ihe sailor's dooiie. 

Dark, sullen, gloomy as trie scene around, 
The soul that harbour'd in thatyouUifu] breasf ; 
To him the wild roar was a soothing sound, 
The ouly one, ccald husli liis woes to reat. 

-Tils was «i soul that cnce was warm and kind— 
That once could love with gentlest, purest dame 3 
So mild, 50 lovely was his infant mind, 
His cheek ne'er redden'd with the blush of 
shame. 

But never could he brook the frown of pride, 
This was the killing stroke that smote his heart : 
AW other wounds of fortune he defied, 
Tiiis— this to him was death's envenoija'd dar* 

He felt himself too good to crouch and bend 
Before the man whose only boast was birth ; 
Oh 1 he would sooner his own bosom rerni, 
'ihau bow before the haughtiest lord of earth. 

'i'hfcre ivas a savage sternness in his breast ; 
^o half-way pasfiou could his bosom move, 
vne e'er by him were scornM and then ca- 

r.^£s'd, 
id Vyas all gloomy hats or glowing love. 

Those, vi-hom he scorn'd, he pass'd unheeded by 
He never lur'd a foe wi'h artful wile, 
i vyhcn a friend or lover met his eye, 
ich word was sweetness, and each look a smile. 

He once could love, but oh ! that time was o'er j 
Hia heart was now the seat of Hale alone, 
As peaceful — is Ihe wintry tempest's roar^ 
M cheerful— torturers agonizing- gioan. 



loo 

He would have iovM, had not his frozen heart 
Suspected every form, though e'er so fair; 
How could he love, when rackM by every smart, 
And all the gloomy horrors of despair? 

Insult him — he was wilder than the storm — 
His blood in boilin* vengeance thro'* him rushM, 
And those who thoH they trampled on a worm^ 
Soon found an adder in the form they crushed. 

In dissipation he had revelPd long, 

Had known the wildest paths, that vice e'er 

trod ; 
Jle roam'd, seducM by pleasure's syren song^, 
Until he hated man, himself, and God. 

He hated man, because he thought a foe 
r-'mil'd in each scene, and lurk'd in every path ; 
He scorn'd himself, for he had su'p.k so low ; 
He hated God, because he fear'd his wrath. 

So warm his passions, and so stern his wiil, 
So wild and yet so tender was his eye. 
So warp'd his heart to every thin* that's il!, 
He was not fit to live — much less to die. 

Tha wind that wliisfled round the gloomy walls. 
The billows roaring on the rocks below, 
'j'he trickling drop thai freezes as it fails, 
seem'd v/arni and cheeriu! as that child of wor'. 

Oft had I seen this youth pass heedless by, 
All ni'g!igei!t his dress, and wild hi? mien ; 
The tear was ahvay starting in his eye, 
A smile was never in his features seen. 

Wilh Irin;»(jjd air, with eye by sorrow ?ear'd, 
And down cast look ha walk'd — then paus'd 

awhile, 
And in the darkness of his gloom he tear'd 
To, raise his head, lest he ?hould see a 8mi!c. 



156 

So much the tictim of despair and fear, 
He look'd more sadly when he heard one speak, 
And when he saw a smile — oh ! then the tear 
r^lreara'd o'er the furrows of his woe-worn 
cheek. 

So wan his cheek, liis countenance so pale, 
He seena'd just sinking to an early tomb ; 
^o tottering were his steps, his form so frail, 
A ghost seemM wandering in the cavern's gloom. 

He walk'd, then stop'd ; then started, stop'd 

again ; 
Then rais'd to heaven his wild and impious eye ; 
Then gnash'd his teeth, as in severest pain, 
Oi' feebly groan'd, or iieav'd a long drawn sigh. 

With hands in fury clench'd, he beat his brea?t, 
'Phen smote his forehead — stamp'd and wildly 

rav'd ; 
ft seem'd, no soothing hand could give him rest. 
He seem'd too far abandon'd to be sav'd. 

*' Are these the joys of JifCj" he wildly cried, 
■•' Are tlicse the pleasures man enjoys below ; 
The syren voice that said ' be happy' lied, 
Jt cali'd me not to happiness — but woe. 

Life — 'tis a pang that racks us for awhile, 
Then like a bubble bursts and ail is o'er ; 
Us highest joys, even woman's lovely smile, 
f me arc gloomy as you billows roar. 

IT: live no more — I know the world too well— 
^'il Irust no longer to its soothing voice — 
Let those who choose, in pain and sorrow 
dwell— 

.!)*::■ th is my fondcat— Je?.th rny only choice. 



157 

Live,— jliall I lire without the slightest meerfj 
Without one voice to dwell upon my name, 
With hand too weak to do one noble deed, 
Or pluck one leaflet from the wreath offame-- 

Live, while consumption, ghastly, gloomy, pala'. 
Even to a shadow wears my form away ; 
Shrink at the rustling of the gentlest gale, 
And pine, to dark despondency a prey: 

Say, is this life?— how trifling, oh how vain 
To give one struggle for a world like this ; 
How eold, how heavy, pleasure's flowery chaiD. 
How sickening, every cup of earthly bliss. 

I've drain'd the goblet, and I know how vile, 
How mean and empty all terrestrial joys ; 
Reason surveys them with a pitying smile 
And stamps with words of lightning "iafant 
toys." 

How easy, when depresdon sinks me Ioav, 
To leave this world and seek another shore ; 
Careless if pleasure laugh — or all be woe, 
If smooth the waves — or loud the billcw's rv)a: 

How easy, ohl how trifling, with the s!ee! 
To pierce a heart that loves^ no scene beloWj 
To wound a breast too callous e'er to r'tvtt 
A pang less cruel, than a demoa''s woc. 

Does not the smiling surface of the wa^.. 
Kindly invite to take njy endless sleep: 
How svveet to rest within a vvatery gra\;*. 
How soft those slumbers — siiat rtpose h 



ov* 



The death wi'i^'d ball— can pierce my phiea; 

ed brain,. 
The knifC'— can loose the shackle's c^mv sou' 
2 



158 

ki\ opia'?— '.hat can ease my every pain, 
Smiles, how inviting I— in the poison'd bowL 

And thou, sweet drug I — can'st shed the balmy 

dew 
or sleep eternal, o'er my wearied eyes, 
And give repose, as calm to mortal view- 
As when the inTdnt wrapt in slumber lies. 

Still thou art slow -though sure — ah ! can I wart 
A single moment, ere I sink in death ; 
Perhaps I ma}' lament it when too late, 
And struggle to regain my iieeting breath. 

Give me the knife, the dagger or the ball — • 
Oh I I can take them with a smile serene 5 
Then like a flash of lightning I may fall 
And rush at once icto the world unseen." 

The withered leaves, that deck'd a beechen 

hough, 
Rustled, he turn'd and g?.z'd with frozen stare ; 
Siich gloom, such horror, settled on his brow, 
He seem'd the very image of despair — 

•■• Disttjrb me not- 

rclief, 

Heaven deigna.no soothing comforter to send ; 
There is but one can sooth my gnawing grief, 
it is the best of earthly good — a friend. 

A frjenc — I thought I once had friends — but No ! 

':>ietid>!)ip,^hou cherub I ne'er wert to me given; 
riendship is not a flower that biooraa below — 
Ihcre is friendship it must be in heaven : 

nd when I've seen the pious wi.^ow's woe, 
'.ud view'd no christian friend or heaven-bora 

fair 
J !'er deign to wipe away the tears that flow, 
I've thought even friendship was not real there : 



J 59 

And when no human form on me woirkl roH 
Tlie glance that soothes, or beam the smiles 

that bless, 
3Ty do?, the only solace of my soul, 
Even bit the hand extended to caress. 

What, if some female form should dsi^n to smile, 
Atid chase away the gloom thai clouds my 

breast, 
Could I be happy — could I stay awhile? 
Yes, woman's smile could make me cheerful — > 

biess'd. 

The heart— that^s tortur'd v^ith remor?e is dead 
To all the joys that v/oman's love can give; 
Atiectioo-does not smile, v/here hope is Hed, 
Where conscience frowns, thut charmer cannot 
live. 

Can Love, the ?wee(estche'-uh, ever deijn 
To live,where doubt, de?i)air, distraction dwell : 
Ah I no— this foKd idea must be vain, 
Love in my bosom is a saint in hell. 

Let others boast their skiil to charm the sou], 
And proffer pleasure to the expecting eye, 
To bid the glance with mimic svvteiness roll; 
And heave the bosom with an empty si^h ; 

Away such base deceivers from my sij;ht, 
Hide them, ye shades of midnight I from m/ 

view ; 
Think you such flatteries can my soul deil2;iit I 
Farewell such love, such hollow friends adieu. 

No smooth deceit e'er floated from my tonguR, 
By flattery's wiles these lips of mine ne'er 

mov'd, 
C'n them — on them this truth has always hung. 
"1 ever haled all, and nothing lov'd/-' 



160 

And what if man, or woman shun my form, 
Aad view a tiger in the gloom I wear; 
To me their smiles are blacker than the^torm. 
There seems a serpent ever lurking there. 

The charms of vice detain'd my soul too long— 
What sounds of sweetness in iier love-not«s 

flow ; 
But mis-ery's sigh is in her sweetest song, 
And in hx;r gayest smile the teetr of woe. 

The eye that beams so fondly— ill conceal? 
Distraction's silent gaze and icy glare ; 
The lip that smiles so sweetly — still reveals 
The paleness, and the quiv'ring of despair. 

1 drank her cup of promis'd hii?.s — I lay 

In soft repose on beds of roses flung, 

There heard her Ariel harp its wind-notes play. 

And aJI tiie syren-music of her tongue— 

In slumber soft, I clos'd my smimming eyes, 
While sounds extatic seeni'd around to flow : 
I slept — no more in happiness to rise ; 
I cJosM my eyes to bliss — I wolce to woe. 

Tiook at my eye, and s^flie glare of pain ; 
IjooU at jny cheek, it is the hue of death ; 
3rc Ihere the softness of+ier flow'ry chain, 
There mark the sweetness of her balmy breath. 

Shun — shun the road she points to — death is 

there, 
Hsr-sweetest voice is hut a funeral knell, 
Her gayest smile is but the gloom of care, 
And though she calls, to heaven, <:he leads to hell. 

Wha«Vs earth, what's life to space, eternity? 
-Th but a ila£l\ a glance— fr^rii birth to death ; 



161 

Antl he, who rule*] the world, would only be 
Lord of a poinl — a creature oTa breath — 

And what h it to gain a hero's name, 
Or build one's greatness on the rabble's roar ? 
'Tis but to light a feeble flickering ilame, 
That shines a moment, and is seen do more. 

Once Co&sar gain'd the summit of renown, 
For him fame's trumpet blow its loudest peals ; 
But what to him is Glory's shining crown? 
It heightens but the blackness it reveals. 

What is the greatness Science can display, 
Or from the best tun'd lyr? what can we gain : 
But that the fluttering insect of a day 
May hum our praise, and all be still again. 

What if a Tilian's tints, a Ruben's Are, 
A Pcaphael's grandeur o'er my canvass glow : 
These tints, that nre, that grandeur scon expirCr 
And melt as quickly as the summer's snow. 

Let boastful wealth his richest stores unfold. 
And Pride his pomp of 3ncestry display ; 
A speck of yellow dust is all their gold, 
An infant's rattle — ail their proud array. 

What praise to shine in fashion's brightest ray 
What is tliat Fame by fops so dearly sought r . 
'Tis but the mere enhemeron of a day — 
'Tis but the very meaoest part of nought. 

And thou, proud monarch, frowning on thv 

throae ' 
What is the space between thy power and me 
♦Tis but to sit above the crowd alone, 
And lord it o'ef a Cew poor worms like thee. 

Ah ! when I look on man and see how low, 
How vile has sunk the basely grovelling crcv. ,. 



162 

\ still can scarcely tliink this child of woe. 
Can have sufficient meanness io be proud. 

Depart, renown, oh hie thee far away I 
. vtid fortune, though in all thy splendour drest ; 
Oh 1 iVom (his world you've torn my only stay, 
And lei't not even one motive in my breast. 

This world has now so dull and gloomy growD;^ 
So sickening every sight where'er I range — 
'Mid all life's bustle, 1 am stili so lone, 
I'd leave it, were it only for a change. 

What balm shall heal my wounds, or soothe my 

woes', 
How shall I sink to my untimely grave, 
Shall this sweet opiate ln!l me to repose, 
Or shall I piunge beneath the roaring wave? 

Come sweetest draught, 1 woo thee to my lips 
Wiih all the fondness of a lover's breast ;. 
No tliirsly^ weary pilgrim fondliersips 
J"rhe cooling fount or lays him down to rest. 

Come do thy work, and free my struggling sou), 
3;vifr as ti)e lightning — from life's heavy chain | 
1 care not if I reach heaven's sliining goal, 
Or plunge beneath the waves of endless pain. 

You gave me life — take back the gift you gave, 
iSor tnink r<l thank you for stich trusn as this; 
Sweeter to me annihilation's ^rave, 
Oh! sweeter than the highest heaven of bliss, 

Holl on the winds 3;^our most terrific storm, 
And shade the skies with more than Egypt's- 

gloom ; 
Then with your vengeful lightnings scathe mj 

form. 
And hurl me to mj never-eiidiog lio^aa* 



163 

I've plungM iii guilt, till I can plunge no mortj 
I've heen to man and God the fellest foe; 
On me — on me each cup of fury })our, 
And whelm me in the deepest gulf of woe.*' 

But ere the suu had dip'd his orb of light 
Beneath the wave that sweli'd along the main, 
A momentary brilliance met the sight, 
And shone reflected o'er the wat'ry plain. 

The trembling lustre glanc'd upon his eye — 
There was a something, neither smile nor tear, 
A sound, nor comfort's voice, nor sorrow's sighj 
Fell scarcely heard upon the listener's ear. 

*' Can there no ray like this of raercy shine, 
To dis.ripate my soul's terriHc gloom ; 
Is there no beam from heav'n, ho light divjnc, 
Can gild the path that leads me to my tomb : 

Must all within be desolate end :?>d, 
Must all seem frowning to the mental sight, 
When the last sun-beam makes all nature glad, 
And ushers in with smiles the shades of night : 

May ! not hope, although dark clouds of woe 
Hang o'er my soul and sink it fo the grave ; 
May I not hope for happiness below, 
That heav'n will smile, and mei;cy deign to 
save ? 

The light is gone, ?.nd all is dark again, 
fco flies the light that f-hone upon my sou! ; 
!Xight's> horrors thicken o'er the heaving maio. 
£o, round my heart, despair, distraction roll. 

What 1 shall I catch at hope's illusive gleams, 
That glance liUe metears through my phrenzied 

brain ; 
What I shall I trust to fancy's wildering dreaaiis • 
i>Jo! death and luio v/elcome once r-ain. 



164 

No I f can pierce the grave's tremendous gloom, 
And through its dunnest shades unfaltering pry, 
Can read witli look unmov'd my direst doom, 
And view the world of woe with heedless eje — 

Gh I you may tell me of the quenchless flame, 
Ami gjiawing worm that never — never dies, 
Or read each furious devil name by name — 
The hottest hell within my bosom lies. 

Is this your kindness — you who made my sou]; 
And formM it to be sensible of woe, 
Then bade a world of anguish o'er it roll, 
And through my veins despair's dark currenta 
flow : 

Why was I made for misery alone. 

Why were my joys but preludes to my pain, 

Why was my voice but form'd to breathe the 

groan, 
Or why my tongue but fashion'd to complain ? 

You bade a thousand pleasure? round me smile j 
But mingled poison in their balmy breath ; 
Bade angel forms exert (heir every wile. 
To lure me sweetly on to sin and death : 

Is this your kindness — thus to charm my eye£, 
By what would certainly my soul undo? 
Oh 1 is it not sufficient to chastise, 
Must you allure me, and then punish too ? 

Oh ! happy prospect I for before my sight 
Annihilation rises dark and drear; 
Or to njy vision glares hell's murky light, 
And sighs and groans and gnashings fill my ear. 

What clouds around (he. grave's dark regions 

roll— 
I'd give the weal'li of worMs to pleirce their 



165 

And read, imprinted on the eternal scroll, 
The awful words of fiatae that mark my (loom. 

The thoughts of an hereafler wake my fear, 
And fill my soul with agonizing throes ; 
Methinks some accent whispers in my ear 
And tells me — nothing will my pangs compose. 

Nothing I — there's something awful in liiat 

sound ; 
Oh I shall my all be crumbled info dust — 
Shall mind — shall body rot beneath the ground, 
Nor soul immortal from my cerement burst ? 

Nothing I — away thou phantom from my brain. 
Away thou deadlier tit nd than ever rose 
To rack the doubting soul with hellish pain, 
Or fill il with a maniac fancy's woes. 

Nothing I — unreal shade of all that's ill, 
Cease — cease thy clamours, nor disturb mc 

more — 
Hush I let that demon voice of thine be still, 
Oil I hie thee to thy dark Tartarean shore. 

What if I pry beyond the yawning grave ; 
Is there a light can point ray wilder'd way^ 
Is (here an arm of mercy stretch'd to save? 
Oh I help that arm, and guide me, genial ray- 

I look, but all is darloer than the gloom. 
That hung, a sooty mist, o'er Egypt's land ; 
1 listen, all is stiller than the tomb : 
There is no ray — no mercy's outstretch'd hand.- 

Come then each busy devil to ray breast, 
Come every fiend of hell, and nestle there — ■ 
Hack me — Religion cannot give me rest ; 
If mercy will not whisper — ye!!, despair! 



Ivly f ur i« open (o thy piercing cry-*^ 
"Pour it— -to every suffering Vm resiijn'd ; 
But hark ! — methought i heard an angel fly 
With downy pinions on the passing wind. 

No ! 'twas an idle fancy — raock no more, 
Thou cheating spirit, thou art false though fai; 
Ko ! 'twas the wave of ruin^'s sullen roar, 
Iso I Hwaa the hollow voice of dark despair. 

Come grisly deatli ! and whet ihy bloody darfj 
Oome waft upon the breeze my dying knell ; 
Oh I mi.^ery and woe hnve filPd ray heart, 
Oh I hell to rae is nothing — nothing's hell." 

3Ie said, and lifted high t'le poisonM draught, 
^' This gives" he cried " my body to the tomb -^ 
To nothing — dreary nothing, it shall waft 
iSly soul, or yield it to its endless doom. 

A doom, that strikes my shuddering soul with 

dread. 
And almost drives rr.y purpose from my breast; 
Speak not tiiose words — for every hope is fled, 
In death — in darkness, is my only rest. 

*' Come to ray lips," he spake, with features 

f s!in, 
" Come to my lips— thou cordial of Hiy woes, 
Pour in my wounded heart thy healing balm, 
An<\ in eternal sleep my eyelids close. 

Come, lovely draught I oh. lovelier than tie 

spring ! 
Aud sweeter than the rnorniofr's dewy breath ! 
Oomc, Ic my soul oblivion'*g comforts bring.'" 
Ue said, and cahiJi; drank tlie cup uf deatli- 



167 

iVHEN life ^yas weak and faint, his ardent 

soul 
J^folded all the vigour of its pow'rs; 
riien Ihrouiih I he Melds of lore he Hew and stole, 
kVith ceaseless toil, the honey of its flovv'rik 

flis heart expanded with his growing mind, 
\nd love anci charity and thirst of fame, 
LTnbending v/orth, arabitjon unconfia'd, 
3 1 these he wish'd, his bosom's only aim. 

3 ! he would think of these, until (he glow 
Brighten'd his cheek and kindled up his eye ; 
J'hen ill a rushing flood his thoughts would dow.j 
i\nd lift him to the all-o'erarchiug sky. 

And yet his soul was tender — there was one, 
Who made his heart throb and his pulses beat ; 
5he was his ail, his only light, his Sun, 
Her eye was brightest, and her voice most 
sweet. 

She was to him an angel — he was young. 
The down of youth had just begun to grow ; 
!li3 eye forever on her iuia£^e hung, 
There would his cent'ring thoughts forever flow. 

I love how ill requited — could a soul, 
Then souring to perfection, blend with one, 
Who only thought of transient sport, whose 

whole 
Enjoyment ceas'd below, v/here hia begun. 

And then his fearfulness and shrinking eye — 
She knew her pow'fj and yet she could act 

1 kaow- 

i 



168 

ho do; 
Of grief and wounded pride he let her go. 

First love — with what a deep, strong, fix'd im- 
press, 
It prints the yielding heart of childhood — gone, 
No other eye the lone lost soul can bless, 
Hope then is fled, the feelings are undone. 

How all unequal were his raind and form — 
This knew the blinking owls, that shunnVl his 

light; 
To wound his bosom, and to raise the storm, 
He ill could master, seem'd their sole delight. 

Abus'd, neglected, fatherless, no hand 
To guide or guard him, left alone to steer 
His dangerous way — can youth securely star 
When not a parent, friend, or hope is near r 

He conquer'd in intelligence, but those 

Who felt his strength there, still his weakness 

knew ; 
They crush'd his spirit first, and then to close 
Their work — they made him hke their grovel- 
ling ere Wo 

The light of heav'n was gone— ambition still 
Tjurk'd with him to the last, but he was blind ; 
And genius struggled on through every ill, 
But peace and innocence were left behind. 

Years hurried by — but what a raging sea 
Was that young heart — wild as a stetd he ran. 
Till he was swallow'd in misanthropy, 
Ind swnre eternal enmity to man. 



169 

■And yet ho oouM. not hate — at every look, 
That told the wounded bosom's (hrobbin? svveilj 
His frame in sympathetic shivering shook. 
His hand, though rais'd in wrath, in pity lell. 

JJe long'd to cast his hateful chains away, 
Tie long'd to he all virtue, reason, soul; 
In vain he strove against the headlong sway 
Of passion — till its gulf ab&orb'd the whole. 

^Jid all his folly, weakness, guilt, one beam 
Across the darkness of his being .*horie — 
Most dastardly and shameful did he deem, 
To take one mile, that was not all his own. 

She came — at last the kindred spirit came, 
The same bright look, the same dissohmgeye ; 
Her bosom lit with that ethereal flame, 
AVhich warm'd him, when in youth his soul war 
high. 

Informing and informM, their's was the pure 

Delight of blended intellect — their way 

Was strew'd with reason's choicest pleasures. 

sure 
To last with those, whom guilt leads not astray. 

Awhile his spirit kindled — hope and love, 
And friendship, days of peace and joy arose. 
And lifted all his ardent thoughts above 
The memory of his follies and his woes. 

His way had been unequal — now he soared 
On ru«hing wings, and now he sunk in night ; 
Bi:t then he felt new life around him pour'd, 
lie ainuM to heav'n his strong untiring flight. 

P 



no 

Twas but ?i moment — like the dying flash, 
The soul's last sparkle, ere its lights are fled ; 
'j'hen foliy came, his kindling hopes to dash, 
And hide his spirit with the moral dead. 

.00 late — too late — thou could'st not call him 

back, 
With all thy charms thou could'st not — guilt, 

despair, 
So long had dogg'd him in his wayward track, 
They quench'd the light, that once shone bright- 
ly there. 

An outcast, self-conderan'd, he takes his way, 
He knows and cares not whither — he can weep 
No more, his only wish his head to lay 
la endless death and everlasting sleep. 

Ah ! who can bear the self-abhorring thought 
Of time, chance, talent wasted — who can think 
Of frieodship, love, fame, science, gone ta 

nought, 
And not in hopeless desperation sink.' 

Behind are sunamits, lofty, pure and bright, 
V.'here blow the life-reviving gales of heav'n ; 
Eeiow expand the jav/s of deepest night, 
And there he falb, by pow'r resistless driven. 

'Vhe links that bind to life are torn away ; 
The hope, the assuring hope of better days, 
Friendship;, that warms «sy«fith a genial ray. 
And love, that kindles with an ardent blaze. 

These he has left, and books have lost their 

charm ; 
The brightest sky is but a veil of gloom, 
His mind, hand useless, where can be thehai'lft}, 
la drav;'jng to his only couch, the tomb* 



171 

Ye! v.ho abus'd, neglected, rent and slain'd 
That heart, when pure and tender, cooie ami 

dwell 
On these dark ruins, and by heav'n arraiett'd. 
Feel, as you look, the scorpion stings of hell. 

But no — your cold, black bosoms cannot feel, 
Amid the rank weeds, flow'rs can never blow. 
Your hearts, encrusted in their case of steel, 
No feelings of remorse or pity know. 

Yes, you will say, poor, weak and childish boy. 
Infirm of purpose, shook by every sigh, 
A thing of air, a light fantastic toy — 
What reck we^ if such shadows live or die. 

Uut no — my life's blood calls aloud to heaven. 
The arm of justice cannot, will not sleep, 
A perfect retribution shall be giv'n, 
And vengeance on your heads her coals shal' 
lieap. 

Where minds like this are ruined guilt must be. 
And where guilt i?, remorse will gnaw the soul, 
And every moment teem with agony, 
And sleepless thoughts in burning torrents roll. 

And thou — arch moral-murderer! hear my 

curse — 
Go — gorge and wallow in thy priestly sty, 
Than what thou art, I cannot wish thee worse, 
There with thy kindred reptiles cravri and die. 



I. 

THE ROSE-BUSH. 20 

i WOULD not rob that rose-bujh of a flow'r; 
No; not for all the charms of Mary's smile, 
Although she begg'd the blooming gift the while 
With all a lovely woman's softening pow'r: 
No I for tijat glowing shrub at morning's hour, 
While bending o'er the bank of yonder isle, 
Can with its spangled gems my soul beguile, 
t'Mich soothing influence hath a dewy tiow'r. 
And Marj, when I see thee gently bending 
O'er yonder monument, where Laura lies, 
\Vhere Diarble-tnow and crimson blooms are 

blending, 
Me thinks 1 see an angel in thine eyes, 
\Vhi!e heavenly tears in crystal drops des- 
cending, 
Tell of our anguish when a sister dies. 



TFIE BOWER. 20 

JIETREAT of Innocence ! receive my form— 
'i'liC form of one who wishes for repose, 



173 

And asks a pillow, where his eye& may close-— 
Where he may slumber safe from earthl}' harm .: 
And oh ! within thy shade, where every charca 
Of nature wantons on the dewy rose, 
Where sweetest music on the zephyr flows — 
E'en now I feel my chilly heart grow warm: 
Sure angels might repose in such a bow'r, 
No stain of earth might dim their purity — 
Here slumbering at the even's quiet hour, 
The dew of innocence might o'er them lie. 
While heavenly harps a seraph strain migliS' 

pour, 
And raise the listener's soul to extacr. 



HI. 
THE EYE-LID. 20 

SOFT velvet lid, that shades the living spring 
Whence tiows the stream of sensibility — 
Where meek-eyed loves in gentle ambush lie 
Antl graces flutter 'round on glittering wingl 
Why o'er that sparkling fount thy curtaitt 

ding ? — 
Why hide the lustre of that ebon eye, 
Where Sylphs on filmy pinions hover nigh, 
And fairies trip around in frolic ring. 
Like morning dew-drops on a bed of roseSj 
Serenely shines my lov'd Maria's tear, 
When on that orb of light Ihc drop reposesj 
Or 5lo\vly steals along the sable bier, 
And as her strain of sorrow sweetly closer, 
There seem-s an ange! ii''.caiji:!L- in my rar . 



174 

IV. <-20 

BOFT heaving wave, whose pnre translucency 
Swells on the bosom of the placid lake, 
And as it slowlj swellc, the wat'ry flake 
Plays on the snowy pebble gracefully ; 
While breathe? around fair Nature's, min.slrelsyj 
And rooming zephyrs in the willows wake, 
And from the bough?? the ?how'ry moisture shake; 
And winding riv'lets murxnur tunefully: 
How sweet upon the mossy bank to lie 
And view the shining trout that darts below, 
While drowsy slumber hovers o'er my eye, 
And all its poppy dev/s around me flow, 
While Ihrough the fjuiv'ring leaves the breezes 

sigh, 
And round my pillow whisper mourn fully. 



^ V. 
SPRING. SO 

A'LNTER has gone, and spring returns again— 
The lonely thrush is singing by the rjll, 
The livtjy robin warbles on the hill, 
And blut-birds flutter oVr the. flowry plain, 
And, as they flutter, breathe a cheerful strain ■; 
'vVhiie homelier sounds the buddingscenery ii!L 
'ihe tinkiing shepherd-bell, the rattling milK 
And tiio faint rolling of the distant wain, 
And lovely is the lay the milkmaid sings, 
As 'neath the eim she flils her snowy pail, 
And sweet ihe foiling bell, fh^.t slowly nng?, 
The softly breathing flute within the vale, 
While zephyrs hover round on downy wings, 
And the rapt Foet strikes liis quiv'ring stnngs. 



175 

VI. 
TO SLEEP. 25 

HAIL, universal friend I — whose gentle hand 
Showers o'er our heavy eyes thy cooJing dew. 
And closes for a time the anxious view 
Of past existence— thou, with mighty wand, 
Above (lie tortur'd coucU art seen to stand, 
And lay the Ijrain's delirious rags at rest, 
And ease the heart by sorrow's weight opprest:; 
AU-conquerJng power ' — to whose supreme com- 
mand 
All living nature bows ; whose deep control 
O'er masters mightiest monarchs ; calm and 

stiil 
Thou stealest on Ihs sage's unfleshM soul, 
And bendest pride and glory to thy will — 
Thy whisper'd voices harmonize the whole, 
And all beneath thy sway in peaceful current 
roll. 



VII. 
TO THE GRAVE. 2^ 

THERE is a couch, whereon we all must lie; 
There i.^ a pillow, where the burning thought 
W\U find the oblivious ease it long has sought, 
4nd memory will close her Wakeful eye, 
^,nd conscience spread her vulture wings, andl 

fly 

Fo find on Caucasus another prey, 

iVhere she may pounce and pounce, from day 

to day, 
rhe heart that longs for death, but will oot die ^ 



376 

Ami there forge (fulness has draivn arouml 
Her raven curtain, and her hand has seai'd 
The inflamed eye of sorrow, and has bound 
The venomM gash of early wron^, and heal'ti 
The spirit's every malady; for deep 
IVe fall in dreamless, uaawakening sleep. 



VIIl. 



'TIS not the future dread, that makes me shun 
The end of all tlie living, not the fear 
Of that, which thunders in the coward's ear, 
■And drives him to his fancied hell — not one 
Pf those, the hypocrite can work upon, 
"Who plays with childish, female weakne.=s — No, 
There is no darker world, v/here I can go, 
And all, that juslice can inflict^ is done : 
JBut life will lir)ger even when hope has flown, 
jft.nd we will cling to all, (hat once had power 
To charm us, ?ooth us, bless us, and the hour 
Of early unstain'd pas.sion — that alone 
Comes like a flash of light across the heart, 
From whose imagined luavf n we cannot, will not 
part. 



IX. 25 

WE think of what we might have been — the 

stream 
Was crystal at its fountain — though it flow'd 
Without that strong, deep current, still it glowM 
Beneath a biighter sky, and gay the beam 
Play'd on its dancing waters, as we dream 
In sunny climes of fairy land, where hlov/)i 
In Rsver-fadina; hues the living rose. 



177 

Where myrtles shed their fragrance, and we 

seem, 
Such is the luxury of feeling there, 
The kindling energy our souls inhale, 
Ourselves a portion of the balmy air — 
So How'd the stream of life, as through the vale 
It threw its unstained waters from the spring, 
And with its freshness wet the ze^ihyr^s silent 

wing. 

But while the scanty ri'l stole through the glen 
In peaceful playfulness, it chanc'd to meet 
The turbid torrent of the wide world ; beat 
By rushing floods its shores re-echoed ; then 
In its devouring vortex suck'd, agen 
To be no more the pure, unmingled stream. 
We huriied down the steep, which most mea 

deem 
l"he only path to pleasure, bat the den 
Lies at the bottom, where Remorse has built 
Her iron walls, wherein the boiling surge, 
Whirl'd round and round with all the rage of 

guilt, 
The ever-rushing past will madly urge ; 
Fnr iu the heart, where sense and passion dwell, 
Erelong wiU heave the flood of such a restless 

Hell. 

But there are some more silent, calm and slow, 
through temperate climes they take their 

steady way, 
Their wave scarce ruffled by the ripple's play» 
E.'iiarging tliroujih the wide, rich plain they flow, 
While brooks on brooks unitins; swell it so, 
At length it rolls a river broad and deep ; 
In calmest light the tranquil waters sleep, 
And there ifi gallant trim proud vessels go, 
Aiid moving like a swan aiong the tide, 
Q 



178 

With cleaving pro\v, and wide-extended vvin^, 
And oary arm?, the bounding wave they ride, 
And as their canvass to the gale they fling, 
la stately march they walk the liquid plain, 
And down the ivideuing stream plow to the deep 
blue main, 



The only shore, it spread* and spreads forever, 
And though the bark sail onward, it can never 
Traverse the unlimited expanse — its floor 
Inlaid vvith blue and green and gold, as rise 
Its lifted v/a^es, its canopy the skies. 
The ever-glowiiig Sun its lamp, the roar 
Of seas its music, and the sun-lit sparkle 
Of curling foam, the phosphorescent glow, 
That flashes, when at night the wafers darkle-, 
Th.e pearls and gems and sands and ores, that 

strow 
Its pavement, 'tis the home of majesty, 
The palace and the shrine, where dwells elernify. 



X. 25 

I TOO have sesn thy ever-pouring flood, 
Mightiest of cataracts — Niagara 1 
Have seen thy restless waters rush away, 
And on thy beetling rock alone have stood, 
And seen the morning sun-beams paint thy 

spray, 
And countless rainbows on thy light mist play; 
And I have walk'd along thy field of blood, 
"Whereon the free invaders stood at ^'ay, 
And mantled in the shadow of the night 
Infuriate warrior-s wrestled in the fight. 
The pale moon weeping oVr the mortal fray; 
Afid 1 have gaz'd, froia Queenston's hallowed 

height. 



179 

On river, lake, and plain, in sunset iiright, 
Gilt streams, dark woods, blae waves in sweet 

array, 
And hither, as the years shall roll away, 
The pilgrim of our land shall fondly hie. 
And here the tribute of his heart shall pay. 
And kueel before the shrine of God and liberty. 



XI. 25 

I STAND upon the mountains, 'mid a sea 
Q[ rocks, and woods, and waters, vales and 

plains, 
Where smiling freedom clad in russet reigns, 
•l>eneath a cloudless, deep-blue canopy, 
^Vhereon, in eovereicrn pomp and majesty, 
'j'he lord of day ascends his nomtide throne, 
And looks o'er a!K himself unviewM alone, 
£urh is the burning brightness of his eye ; 
\nd here with upward breast, and daring wing, 
And glance, that dwells undazzled on the blaze, 
And finds its honiC in those unclouded rays. 
From off these rocky battlements I spring, 
And soaring to a more elherial height. 
My pinions lift me on to heaven's 0'.7n world of 

iight. 



Xir. 25 

MONARCH of mountains I whose serenest 

brow, 
O'er clouds and storms uplifted, ccr.rts the sky, 
And gases on the all-pervading eye, 
To which, in heartfelt awe, wide ua'ions bow, 
As Him, from whom their life and being flow — 
Monarch of mcuntains I at thy feet I lay 



180 

The tribute of my wonder, and there pay 
The homage of a soul, to whom the bow 
Of glory, that encircles thee, when night 
Comes on in iris-splendour, and thy height 
Glows with unnumbered hues and seems on fire, 
Afld o'er thy pure snows rolls a wave of light — 
To whom these glories are a high delight, 
An inspiration and a deep desire, 
And would be heaven, could I but hear an an= 
gel's lyre. 



Xin. 25 

CATANIA I on thy fam'd and classic shore 
1 long to plant my foot, and stand between 
A paradise, all bloo-ming, gay and green, 
And thy earth-circled ocean's gentle roar, 
Along whose peaceful waves the sunbeams pour. 
From stainless skie&, deep amber, and imbue 
The ruffled water? with an iris hue, 
Like torch-lighi ppr^rkling in a vault of ore— 
And turning 1 behold thy fields of grain 
Waving in yellow floods o'er vale and plain, 
And meadows mantled in a waste of riovv'rs, 
And hills whereon the golden orange glows. 
And purpling with the ripe vine's nectar'd 

bow'rs. 
And breathing with the myrtle and the rose ; 
And higher still, llame-crested Etna tovv'ringj 
A belt of giant oak and chesnut waves 
In gloomy verdure, like the cypress louring 
With shade of solemn night o'er eastern graves j 
And loftier, in its virgin robe of white. 
The snow-cap, piliow'd on the cloudless sky, 
Seems like a floating column of pure light. 
And round its pointed cone dark volumes lie 



181 

RolPd from the volcan's jawe, and sheets of 

flame 
Dart on their path to heav'n, and flowing o'er 
The glowing torrent rolls its flashing stream, 
And from the mountain's womb comes forth a 

sullen roar. 



XIV. 25 

MY (country — at the sound of that dear name 
The wanderer's heart awakens, nerv'd and bold ; 
Before him stand the deeds and days of old, 
The tombs of age?, and the rolls of fame 
Sculptured on columns, where the living flame 
Of Freedom lights anew its fading ray, 
And glows in emulation of that day. 
When on their foes they stamp'd the brand of 

shame : 
Yes, at the thought of these bright trophies 

leaps 
The spirit in his bosom, and he turns 
His longing eye to where his parent sleeps. 
And high on rocks his country's beacon burns ; 
And though the world be gayest, and sweet 

forms 
Of love and beauty call him, he would fly. 
And walk delighte'd in her mountain storms, 
And man his soul with valour at her cry. 
And in the fiercest shock of battle die. 



XV. 25 

NOW to my task — be firm — the work requires 
Cool reason, deep reflection — and the glow 
Of hsart, that ncurs itself in restbsfe fly'tV, 
Q2 



182 

Must sleep, and 4ancy quench her beaiaing fire?, 
And all my longings, hopes, and wild desires 
Must seek *heir slumberous pillow and be still ; 
But ener2:y must mantie o'er my will, 
And give the patient toil that never tires : 
For nature stands before me, and invites 
My spirit to her sanctuary, and draws 
Aside her pictur'd veil, from where she writes 
In living letters her eternal laws ; 
And as I stand amid the countless wheels, 
That roll the car of being on its way, 
A deep serene my silent bosom feels, 
I seem a portion of the viewless ray, 
And o'er me flows the light of pure, unfading 
day. 



XVr. 25 

jMY hand Is clasp'd upon my burning brow, 
And press'd to ease the tortures of my brain ; 
1 seek to cool my parch'd thirst, but ia vain. 
The unpitying fiend no respite will allow — 
My life consumes within me with a slow, 
Delirious fever — in a heavy chain 
Depression fetters all my hopes — again 
No days In love and innocence shall flow. 
We might have been — that is the maddening 

thought, 
Which gnaws my heart untiring — I have thrown 
'J he jewel of my life away — 1 sought 
Bliis high and perfect ; but the prize has flown, 
And 1 must grope in darkness, till I fall, 
And slumber iu the grave, that shrouds my be- 
ing's a'!. 



183 

XVII. 
TO THE PIANO. 25 

SWEET instrument — v.-hose mellow voice is 

flowing, 
From yonder silken canopy, in waves 
Canorous, like tlie hidden stream, that laves 
Its grassy bank?, where eglantines are blowing, 
And, arching o'er the waters, deeply glowing; 
And as the music murmurs in my ear, 
The days of long-lost happiness appear, 
When, early life its dearest gifts bestowing, 
1 glided smoothly down the sunny stream, 
And dreaming ey'd the oft-reflected beam. 
That o'er the crispLng waters gail}- sparkled, 
And breath'd the scent of blossoms from the 

bank, 
Where bloomy shrubs the flowing crystal drank ; 
And where beneath the plane its bosom darkled, 
I rested on my our, and hear^J a sound, 
Tender and sweetly modulate, that fill'd 
The thicket with its echoes, far around 
Unnumber'd voices whisper'd from the wild, 
The zephyr droop'd his wings, the clear vi^ave 

smii'd. 
And nature seem'd as by enchantment thrill'd. 
There was a form, who breath'd that melting 

tone ; 
She sat beneath the branches, and she threw 
Her fairy fingers o'er her k»-ys, and drew 
The essence of their melody — alone 
She sat, and seemd enamour'd of her strain, 
And now she ey'd tier notes, and then a^ain 
Lifted her brow to heaven — and oh ! what pure^ 
Exalted harmony breath'd from that face, 
The living s; at oi syrimjetry and grace : 
I gaz'd, and from tha» Inndinig fount:. in bore 
A draught ol love adminog, which no more ' 



184 

Can fall, but in perennial flow endure. 
I hear thy voice, sweet instrument ! and thea 
This fairy vision conaes and o'er me throws 
The mantle of its magic, and again 
I hear the mellow tone, that from her sweet lip 
/lows. 



IMllAira^ltOsj ^©< 



THE INTERLUDES OF 

TASSO^S AMLNTA. 

I. 25 

YES, I am he, who, on the sounding shore 
Of that lone island, 1o Ihe wondrous man, 
Who o'er the sea his fated exile ran, 
So many varying forms and features wore ; 
By me was found the art to change the scene 
Of the life-mocking theatre, when night 
Holds such a kindling mirror to the sight, 
That things seem gay and bright, which else 

were mean ; 
And then how many images are seen, 
All pure and sweet and beautiful, light shades 
Of raptur'd youths and coy, retiring maids ; 
And when tiie night is silent and serene, 
And throws her star-lit canopy around, 
I show the scenic pomp, the elastic bound 
Of merry revellers, while no rude throng 
Disturbs the harmony of heart and song. 



IL 

YE sacred laws of love, by nature giv€n — 
Ye holy chains, where purest constancy 



186 

And warm desire are bient, like hues of heaven 

Dissolving in Aurora's brilliancy, 

Whose linii?, of kindred thoughts and feelings 

woven, 
No other hand, but death's, can rend away, 
By ail the tender cares of marriage proven, 
Grow easier and dearer day by day- 
Sweet yoke, delightful burden — OI how sweet 
And how delightful on the unequal way, 
Where thorns and roses meet, thy gentle sway, 
Oh love ! by whom two hearts together beat, 
Two souls are kindled in one mutual flame, 
And every tliought, wish, feeling, is the same, 
And till (he last and bitter parting come. 
Time flows on in one brit;ht, unruffled stream — 
Thou art tiie kindling and consoling beam 
Of life forever hastening to the tomb, 
Tir'd nature's sweet, restoring anodyne — 
What other power, like thee, can make our 

souis divine? 



HI. 

YES, we are Gods, and in the blue serene 

Of I ver-duiing heaven, among the gems. 

That decli the night, the crysinl diadems 

Of sainted souls, on a celestial scene, 

Wc sport in mingled dances, where the greea 

Of spring forever flourishes, tier flowers 

Are al*vays bright and balmy, aud her showers 

Of dropping nectar light their petirly sheen — 

Such high adventure, such immortal grace. 

We in this mimic school of life display, 

And herf- the wf)rld's best imagery we trace, 

And «!;>->r< in pia^iu) dance the hours away— 

Aiid iiere, ai night, aloug the l.gbted hali, 

Where bufDin^^ cressets euiulats the day, 



187 

And harmony's soft flutes and cillerns piay, 
Shepherds and nymphs, in youth and beauty 

gay, 
In blended choirs lead round the flying ball. 



IV. 

FAREWELL ! 'tis now the hour of soft repose, 
Ye pensive lovers and ye ladies fair — 
Now to your silent couch of sleep repair; 
Now night with show'ring hand her poppies 

strows, 
And rains her violets — now the dexv-steep'd rose 
Hangs faintly drooping, for the day is done, 
And mountain peaks with the departing sun 
Are gaily glowing — Now your eyelids close ; 
But if your thoughts will wake, and fancy paint 
Her airy hues of extacy, may love, 
Wakeful or dreaming, all your cares remove, 
Nor night, nor morning hear your sad com- 
plaint. 
Our pastoral is ended, now adieu ! 
And may the young God still be kind to you. 



ANACREONTICS. 
I. 

Tc f'JiV cs rav s^cnTm. Anac. Od. f. 

NOW blend the breathing roses 
Of love with Dionusos ; 
Now bind the fair-leaf 'd roses 
Around your dripping teaiples, 
And laughing drain the goblet, 
That foams with brimming nectar. 



183 

! rose, (he sweetest blossom, 
Of apring the fairest flower, 
O! rose, the joy of heaven. 
The god of love, with roses 
His yellow locks adorning. 
Dances with the hours and graces. 
Then crown my head with roses, 
For, by thy festive temple, 

1 tune my harp — Lyaeus ! 

And wreath'd with rosy garlands 
I dance among the maidens. 

II. 

H yii juiXctivct TTtvii. Anac. Od. 6, 

EARTH is a thirsty drinker, 
The trees drink from its bosom, 
The ocean drinks the wet winds, 
The fiery sun the ocean, 
The moon drinks in the sun's light. 
Then why, ray friends, be angry, 
Because I love to drink too. 

III. 

FULI< bosomed maids of ChiOf— 
Around your auburn tresses 
'J'he woven roses twining, 
ISow sport in circling dances. 
The moon is on the ocean. 
The light, loose clouds around her 
Their fleecy heaps are piling, 
And gird her with a halo : 
No longer from the billow 
The fresh sea-wind is stealing ; 
His pinions wet with night-dew, 
And bath'd in liquid odours, 
He slumbers on the flow'r bed, 
And lies lili morciDg wake him.» 



189 

Then come, ye maids of Chic— 
And while your dark eyes sparkle. 
Full eyes of living brightness, 
"Weave in your mazy dances 
The flow'iy chain of Ero, 
And round our yielding bosoms 
Its rings of roses linking, 
Give us those glowing kisses, 
That drop the tempting treasures 
Of Aphrodite's nectar. 

IV. 
DEAR girl of Mytilene— 
Thy dark locks looseiy flowing, 
Thy full, round, jet eye sparkling 
With soul-subduing glances, 
Thy brown cheek flush'd and glowing, 
Thy lips, like opening rose buds 
Their earliest balm exhaling, 
Thy slender hands of coral, 
Whose light and fairy fingers, 
The cittern sweetly tuning, 
Awake the song of Sappho, 
And echo " lovely Phaon 1 
Ador'd, but cruel Phaon 1" 
'Dear girl of Mytilene — 
Beneath the bending vine-bow'r. 
That hangs its loaded clusters 
Full-swoln with purple nectar, 
And o'er the vaulted trellice 
its tendrils, wildly ramping, 
V/ith broad, green leaves inwoven, 
fShut out the star and moon light — 
[Dear girl of Mytilene — 
[As in that secret bower 
Thy love-lorn song is flowing, 
The shepherd, on the moss bank, 
All silver'd o'er vvith moon light, 
Reside a dimpliug fountain, 



190 

•hall play upon his tabret, 
Responsive to thy echoes, 
The dying song of Sappho 
To lov'd, but cruel Phaon. 

V. 

'' Ah I whither have Ihy soft wings j 
So ruffled, weak and drooping, 
O'er ?ea and island borne thee, 
Gay harbinger of spring-time, 
Thou light and laughing zephyr? 
The Sun has done his journey, 
And in the purple bosom, 
And liquid halls of ocean, 
Has closed his eye in slumber, 
And resting from his labour, 
He yields, to chaste Diana, 
His all-commanding sceptre." 
" I woke with early mornin^j 
And on the hills of Hesper 
My airy pinions poising, 
I flew to meet Aurora, 
All glowing in her beauty. 
And from her kindling portals, 
With ro?y fingers, guiding 
Her steeds, in ardour champing 
Their foamy bits and l^.ounding 
O'er clouds of gold and crimson, 
And from Iheir nostrils blowing; 
Full floods of light, till ocean, 
Its dark-green billows licaving, 
With gilded purple flashes; 
Till rock, and wood, and raounlaia 
Their sunny summits kindling, 
All nature seems to waken, 
And fresh with youth and beauty. 
Begin anew its being. 

I skimm'd a'ong the rr.id sea, 
Which hides the wandering Cretan, 



I 191 

tVho on Dasdalean pinions, 

n mad ambition, soaring 

foo near day's dazzling fountain, 

rheir waxen junctures mailing 

rhe feathers loosely floated, 

\nd down be plung'd his wild flight; 

ro that Ionic ocean 

Wide spread in glassy brightness, 

Within whose liquid bosom 

Icarus sleeps forever. 

I tlew by woody Same, 
And wavy-leav'd Neritos, 
And where in rocky rudeness, 
By murmuring waters beaten, 
Theaki crowns the blue sea. 
I hover'd o'er the white shores, 
That in the noon light sparkle, 
Around whose sandy hillocks 
A rippling flood of vapours 
Curls as the sea-breeze whispers, 

I cross'd the plains of Ells, 
And hurried by the bright goal 
Along thy bank, Alpheus — 
Where coursers whirl their light carsj 
And bear, through dusty whirlwinds,. 
The ea^er youth to glory. 

At noon I slutuher'd sweetly 
Beneath the soleoin shadow 
Of whispering pine and cedar, 
That crown thy brow, Cylleae — 
I laid me on a grass bank, 
Beside a spouting fountain, 
That, from a moss-^reen grotto 
O'erarch'd with ramping wild-vines. 
Sent out in mist its fresh dew, 
And wrapp'd in weary shimber, 
I let the waters sprinkle 
Their show'rj coolness o'er me. 



192 

I woke and took my new flight 
To those Tegaean pastures, 
Where flocks of snowy whiteness 
Sport on the velvet carpet 
All studded o'er with flowV beds, 
Where, dittany and wild thyme 
Ambrosial mist exhaling, 
Air seems one sweetest perfume, 
Earth one elysian garden. 

I left this happy Eden, 
And cross'd the Nemean mountains, 
That lift their snowy foreheads 
Majestic to the blue sky, 
And cool the wind of summer. 
From their tall tops descending, 
1 sought the purple waters, 
That roll within the wide gulf, 
Which heaves around iEgina, 
And kisses Epidaurus, 
And bears her countless treasures 
To golden-walPd Corinthus, 
And spreads, around the lone isle, 
Its waves above the bleached bones 
Of lord and slave and freeman, 
Who cut the foamy billows 
With brazen prows, and dyed them 
With their heart's blood, in conflict 
For sway, for home and altar. 

I cross'd them as the sun set 
Behind Argolic mountains. 
And kindled, with his slant rays, 
The temples, tow'rs and bulwarks 
Of marble halPd Afhenae ; 
And while his dying glory 
Flam'd on those walls of beauty, 
1 climb'd this flow'ry mountain, 
Where yellow bees sip nectar, 
And now I fold my faint wings 
Go lofty-brow'd Hymetto. 



193 



HORATIAN. 

Quern lUy Melpomene, semel, — Horaf. Od. 
L. IV. 3. 24 

FAIREST of all, bright Urania ! 

Who, on Helicon's top, sing to the golden stars, 

When night draws all her curtains round, 

And far over the hills shines the moon's mellow 

light ; 
First she gilds the tall mountain-top, 
Then on glittering streams, and the wide- 
spreading plain, 
And the dark waves of the tossing sea. 
Pours all her mellowest beams, till earth and 

ocean smile — 
Fairest of all, bright Urania ! 
Sing to thy golden string'd lyre, sing the sweet 
song of heav'n. 



Q^uis Tnulta gracilis (epuer in rosa. Hor. L. I. 5. 

25 
O! FOR, a mantling bow'r hung by the loaded 

vine, 
Through whose quiv'ring leaves shines the 

moon's mellow light. 
Sunk on pillowy roses. 
Silent to muse all the night away. 

O ! for a soft hour at Eve v/ith her my heart 

adores, 
O ! for that union of souls, where thought to 

thought responds, 
And our harmoniz'd feelings 
Blended may rise on the winds to heav'o. 



194 

O ! for that language of looks, where ej'e (o 

e3'e speaks Jove, 
Where smile answers to smile and tear is shed 

for tear, 
Where our kindling glances 
Tell all the wishes, that burn within. 

O! for those days that are gone, when one 

heart beat with mine, 
When she smil'd as we met, wept her soul's 

tribute at leaving me, 
And vvith seeming devotion 
Hung on the lessons I lov'd to give. 

Days ! ye were lovely to me, brightest I ever 

knew, 
Brighter ye still might have been, had not tt 

cloud from hell, 
Over my ill-fated fortunes 
Hung, till the light of my soul v,'as gone. 

Backward I look on a dream chcquer'd with 

bright and dark ; 
Youtii sweil'd with hope, fame-enthrall'd, 

health, peace and innocence, 
And thy elysian bow'rs — 
Love, life's dearest and sweetest charm. 

Such were the lights, but the sliades — fear and 

despondency, 
Hopes ^lighted, health lost, neglect, folly and 

indolence. 
Till despair wrapped her raven palL 
Round my torn heart to eternity. 

Fairest and purest and best — fair as the world 

iu blonm, 
Pure as the clear mountain spring, bright as the 

souls in heav'n — 
Such my fancy belj<nes thee, 
Such— but no efforts caa make thee mine. 



195 

Life without thee is a waste, with thee a para^ 

dise — 
Never on earth can we meet — O! can we meet 

in heav'n ? 
We have parted forever — 
Thine be the joy, mine the wretchedness. 

Toss'd like a ship on the sea, mast broke and 

rudder gone, 
Sorrow and madness behind, darkness and 

death before, 
Live a few moments in agony, 



IjTOV <r' ilKctTlVCV KCIXUS iVTOiBi /ui^cS^/i/.n? 

2t»5*v Ait^xvTis. Homer. Odyss. B. ii. 424. 

34 
HIGH they rais'd the mast, and spread the 

whi'e sail to the zephyr, 
Wide before the wind tlje bellying canvass 

yielded, 
Kound the gliding keel roar'd loud the purple 

billow. 
Over the foaming waves the swift-flying vessel 

bounded. 
She flew, like a hawk, through the sea, and the 

shores drew nearer and nearer. 
The foam curl'd round the prow as the wind 

impelPd her onward, 
Through the ^ilent night she sail'dj till morning 

ill the mountains. 



196 

^^ret ager^ vilio moriens sitit aeris herba : 

Virgil Eel. vii. 57. 18 

THE thirsty fields a robe of sadness wear, 
And the grass withers in the sultry air; 
On the fair hillocks, where the swains recline, 
The yellow leaf drops from the parched vine : 
Let Phyllis come, the groves are green again. 
And the dark clouds pour down reviving rain ; 
Smiles every meadow, blooms each lovely 

flow'r. 
And the pleas'd songsters hail the genial show'r. 

The dark-green poplar whispers o'er the rills, 
And the vine blushes on the sunny hills ; 
The beauteous myrtle trembles o'er the wave, 
The laurel shades the cool, sequester'd cave : 
But while my Phyllis loves the hazel grove, 
The lowly hazel T shall ever love. 

The lof(y ash is fairest in the woods. 
The trembling aspen o'er the crystal floods, 
In flowery gardens waves the whispering pine, 
The fir looks fair where tow'ring hills decline i 
JJiit when, my Lycidas, you once return, i 

When for your absence 1 shall cease to mourn, 
The ash shall yield to you among the woods, 
And aspen trembling o*er the crystal floods. 



Hie gelidi fonles. Eel. x. 42. 18 

HERE mossy fountains pour their cooling: wave 
And quiet streams their pebbly borders lave, 
Here thickest shades inweave a lovely gloom 
And blushing flow'rels shed a sweet perfume, 
Here, dear Serine, we can spend each day, 
And here can wear our cheerful lives aw*". 



197 



Fortunate senex, hie inter Jlumina nola. EcL 
f . 52. 17 

HAPPY old man I here 'mid your well-known 

streams 
Aiid sacred fotrntaios, you may long enjoy 
The quiet coolness of the solemn shade. 
There o'er the hedge, that bounds your narrow 

field, 
The bees, that wanton on the willow's bloom, 
Shall, by their hum, invite you to repose : 
There 'neath the brow of yonder lofty cliff, 
The pruner's voice shall sing aloud to heaven : 
Meanwhile amid the still and gloomy grove, 
The hoarse wood-pigeons, thy deligiil, shall coo^ 
i\nd high amid the elm's serial boughs 
The lonely turtle pour her ceaseless moan* 



The following were vfrittcn in imitstion of the irregu- 
fit Greek poems of Simmias the Rhodian. They can only 
be considered as trifles, whose sole merit must rest in their 
poetical language and rhythm. I have not chosen to give 
them in printing their original form, but merely to arrange 
tliem in an irregular blank measure. a4 

I. 

THOU, who, erst on Etna's top, 

in dreaming fancy, sat. 

And look'd on wide Sicania's plain?, 

Adorn'd with fruits and flocks and golden grain, 

Where Ceres, Flora, Pan, in mingled dance com- 

bin'd. 
Led on the jocund hours to music's sweetest 

breath : 
And as the sun at height of Noon, 



198 

From heav*ns blue canopy, effused 

His living radiance '-^er <he earth, 

Shining on mounta'ns cap;/d with snow and ice, 

Or blacken''d with a waving wilderness 

Of forest?, that for ages long had brav'd 

The shock of tempests and the war of winds, 

When rushing from the dark Liparian caves 

they fly, 
And sweep o'er land and 55ea, 
Upturning from its lowest bed, 
?i) curling foam, old ocean's rolling waves ; 
Glii'eringon sunny rocks and hills. 
Where pujple vineyards teem with nectar'd 

juice,*the fount of joy. 
On hillocks sweet with tbj'me and dittany, 
Where Hybla's murmuring bees, from laughiag j 

flowers, 
Ambrosia cull, like molten gold ia hue^ ^ 

Translucent as the crystal wave, ^ 

That, in Ortygia's sea-surrounded isle, 
From Arcthusa wells ; 
Glowing on plains perfum'd with roses, where : 

the shepherd's flute 
An amorous descant warbled, while the bleat of 

flocks 
And low of herds came floating on the wind; 
And pouring all its kindling power 
On meadows, whfjie tlso reed 
Shook, and snowy lilies bloom'd. 



H. 

THE cypres?, ia iJs dark funcrea] dre«-i. 
Hangs o'er the sacred tomb, where Virgil iie . 
And "as the evening breeze begins to curt 
The golden waves, that lave the Baian shores, 
And heave in gurgling tides their crests of foam, 
Kissing the poiish'd shells and snowy sands, 



199 

A strain of sorrow seems to breathe 

From those low-bending botighs, the whispering 

wiiid 
Wakes every leaf to music, and the tree become* 

a harmony 
Of myriad voices, as, if heaven's whole choir 
Cherub and Seraph, on their harps of gold, 
Should pour a dirge for man's unhappy fail, 
And weep that pow'r?, which took in heav'u 
The kindling spark of Hfe, 
Should lose that light and die. 
The miod is bound to ^ense. 
And illhe reins of sense 
Are ioosM in youth's impetuous hour, 
Without a skilful hand to check or guide, 
Like full-fed fiery coursers bursting from the 

goal, 
a'hey rush and with them hurry on the mindj the 

charioteer : 
Then reason's voice is heard in vain, 
Wild as the tempest-winds they fly, 
Obscur'd by dust and balh'd in foam, 
They burst away, they know not whither-^ 

Death 
Bits on his storm-cloud, draws his dart and 

bvinds iiis bow ; 
The arrow dies with awful twang — 
t leaves the body spent, but kills the mind ; 
!\nd souls, that might have soar'd aloft and 

sung, 

Like him, who sleeps within this hallowM cave. 
Lose all their fire and sink to earth, in dust and; 

darkness lost. 



III. 

THE clouds are black in heaven, the roar ef 

winds 
s heard among the tall aspiring top» 



200 

Of hoary oaks, that wave on Gargarus, 
And proudly heave their giant arms. 
These oaks have stood unhurt, unmov'dj 
The storms of ages as they roli'd : 
No tempest broke their boughs, 
No lightning scath'd their trunks. 
They stand in mockery against the winds, 
And laugh the fury of the storm to scorn; 
But man, poor feeble man, can lay 
Their honours in the dust ; 
By constant toil he rules. 
But man, to rule, must rule himself, 
Or all his toil is vain. 
In life's 6rst dawn he needs 
The watchful care of friends. 
The flower that early blooms. 
Must, from the chilly winds, 
Be shielded, or it droops and dies ; 
The tender plant of childhood needs that care — 
It takes eacti form, you give ; the parent's hand 
Can, if the task with life begin, 
Train it as easily, 
To virtue as to vice ; 
But if you let it shoot luxuriant, wild. 
Or train it up to vice in life's weak dawn, 
It wastes its early strength for nought. 
And when the time of fruit arrives, you come 
And find its branches withered, scorch'd and 
bare. 



THE GOBLET. 

WHERE gay Falernum lifts its sunny brow 
O'er wide Campania's sea of bending corn, 
I rose and ehook my tendrils to the gale, 
And glow'd with hving purple and gold. 



201 

How rich, to see the teeming clusters 

Droop beneath their nectarM load, 

To inhale the airs of fragraoce, 

As the wanton wind 

Loaded his wings with dewy sweetness, cuU'd 

The choicest perfumes, that I shed, 

And whispering o'er the banks 

Of blossoms, gave them richer sweets. 

Fluttering zephyrs hover'd round me, 

Kiss'd my purple, frosted coat, 

And ting'd their lips with honey. Dews 

Wet my clusters, till themselves 

Imbib'd my sweets, and then exhalM 

In fragrant mist away. 

Press'd, and refin'd ±)y time, I stand 

"Within the cr}'stal goblet, while a light 

Of purest amber loats around and sheds a 

mellow team, 
As if a cloud of clustering roses 
Cross'd the sun and crimson'd al! the earth. 



24 
EXPAND your snowy wings, ye swans of Heli- 
con I 
And bear me to some paradise 
On India's verdant mountains, or on Iran's 

plains : 
Lay me beneath the spreading palm, 
That heave? its polish'd shaft aloft, and waves 
Its capital of verdure ; flowers that glow, 
Like morning's gay effulgence, fruits that hangj 
Their purple clusters, in communion blent, 
Mingle their beauty atid their sweetness ; — gnles 
Breathe from the lovely union, fragrance-laden, 
And cheer for many a league the desert round. 
As budding, blooming, ripening, and mature. 
S 



202^ 

In soft accordance pensilely they droop-: — 
The camel scents the wind — he knows, the 

spring 
Of living coolness bubbles, where it loads 
Its wings with odours, and at once he starfs <m 

And scours the dazzling plain — Oh! lay me there, *" 
And hovering over pour. your dying notes, 
The dirge of one who sang and shone, a childj 
And sunk at manhood in the dust, despisM. 



COME on your sky-blue wings> ye Paphiaa; 

doves I 
And o'er me drop the pure Idalian dews. 
Come, fan the air wi-h silken pinions, 
Pluck with tender bill the roses. 
While they open in the thickets, 
Heavy witlhthe tears of morning :~ 
Bear them 0Q*the faltering breezei^ 
As they waken with Anrosa, 
Lightly brushing o'er the meadow, ; 

Kissing, as they pass, the lilies ; 
Sighing through the silent forest, 
Waking from their nightly slumbers,. 
All its murmuring tones and echoes ; 
Floating o'er the sleeping ocean, 
When without a wave or billow, 
Like a green and golden mirror, 
In the morning light it glows: 
Bear these nectar-breathing blossomsj 
Hovering round on rustling pinions. 
Drop them on my mossy pillow. 
Till a heap of crimson sweetness 
Buries in its down my head. 
O I come, ye paphian doves ! from Cypru* 

come ; 
ClosC} o'er the smiliog q^ueen ojf love and joy*, 



20S 

Your wavy pinions, that a canopy 

•f)f living sapphire, gold and amet%st, 

Enoerald and hyacinth and orient pearl, 

Cool her and shield her in its moving shade. 

The Paphian Goddess, on her sea-born car 

Of polish'd fhell, sails lightly on the wind • 

Before her chirp the bounding sparrows.. 

As they draw the IcH^ely burden 

With a trace of gauzy film : 

She nearer comes and sends before 

Her harbinger, the breath of roses, 

Sweeter than the spicy gales, 

That blow from Araby, the blest, 

Where resting on white coffee-beds, 

Or groves of frankincense and myrrh. 

They drink the airs of Paradise ; 

Sweeter than a languid zephyr, 

From a flow'ring myrtle thicket, 

Which, beside the briny billoW| 

Sucks the essences of love, 

And by the secret arts of nature, 

To the most refined sweetness, 

Floating in a cloud of ether. 

Turns the salt and bitter wave. 

Drop on my head those thrilling dsw?, 

So oft, in childhood's tender hours, 

You pour'd in kindling show'rs around :. 

But no — my brow is cold — 

Passion's fire is spent — 

'J'he dews no sooner touch my foreliearL 

Than they freeze to crystal drops. 

And -scornful bound awav. 



204 



3 once thought of writing a poem in the irregular measure 
of Thalaba, the scene to be laid in Peru, among the In- 
cas. I however wrote only the followiag momaux. 

24 
MAN is born to die, 
And so are nations. Thus I mus'd, 
As on the Incas' pyramid 
I sat and gaz'd around. 
Here, methought, a royal race, 
To vrhom a nalion bow'd, 
As if t'hej ivere the eons ofheav'n, 
C'atr.p and paid their adoration 
To the all o*er-seeing Sun. 
And where is now that royal race?" 
Cione, and mingled with the ages, 
'.rhat have pass'd away. 
f^Iere a countless multitude 
Ofself-naade slaves, throiigh weary years., 
i^oird and built this stately pile. 
ifears on years have roU'd away, 
* '-since thsy, who buiit it, liv'd. 
Still it reais its massy front, 
And stands unmovM, in proUd defiance, 
'Cainst (he scythe of tiaie 
And rLiin''s crutiibling hand ; 
Whlie t!ie same winds bleach the bones 
Of the poor slave, that toil'd, 
\nd. {\v: great king, who bade. 



'TWAS nii('r;!g'ht — and the foil round moon 

Was tiding in the midway heaven. 

And pour'd her faint, but spolloss light, 

Around the pillow, whei*^ he lay. 

On t!)e tender gruss, and half-shut ilovv'er?, 

That cloe'd their leaves against the nightly air^ 

The dews, that hung in {ailing dfoos, 



205 

i^fccp pour'd her poppy dews, 

And spread her gauzy mantle o'er bim? 

Like aa infant in its cradle, 

There in innocence he Jaj*, 

Uaconscious of impending harm. 

Sudden, from the ground he starts, 
And feeis it rock beneath his feet, 
And like the ocean roll. 
From the north, a growling sound 
Rushes on his ear. 
Louder — louder, on it comes, 
Like the never-ending; din 
Of some wide water-fall, 
That in the desert pours its ceaseless flood ; 
Or like the roar of ocean 
When the tempest rages, 
And on a reef of broken rocks 
The billows chaGng, bursting foam ; 
Or like the rush of myriad horsemen, 
"When to conllict fierce, they ride, 
And 'neath the thundering tramp 
Quivers th' embattled plain. 
Never-ending, still increasing, 
On it comes, and now beneath him 
Bellows like the groans of hell : 
Instant to the ground he falle, 
And long entranc'd is lost. 

Hark ! the volcan's thunder 
Rolling o'er the hill'. 
As at midnight, when the storm 
Rears its front in heaven, 
And sheds a thicker darkness o'er t]iT! q-ooj*?. 
Bursts the thunder-bolt, 
And shakes the solid grcjnd : 
So the voican'fe thunder roils. 

Sec the lightning's fia?.h 
Quivering in the sky— 
I-ong i'cd streams of fiariaglJgbt 
Hiie ftsd 'i^k the Stan. 
8* 



206 

From the crater's mouth 
Rolls the fiery flood : 
JDown the rocks it sweeps its way. 
And the ice of ages 
In an instant melts, 

And bursts a torrent to the plains belovr. 
Slower rolls the fiery flood — 
From cliff to cliff it tumbles, j 

And like the mingled roar of thousand cat'rac(^, "' 
Deeper — deeper strikes the ear. 
Hast thou seen Niobe's statue, 
Stand in speechless agony, 
With eye upraised and clasped hand, 
As if to curse the bolt of heaven ? 
So Atalpa stood. 



THE night draws on, 

And closer o'er the wave 

}Ier sombre curtain spreads. 

The dark-blue heav'n swells o'er the sea 

And rests its pillars on the tossing deep. 

The star of evening 

Has lit its lamp, 

And hanging o'er the western wave, 

Sparkles, upon the foam below. 

How calmly steal the winds along the main, 

And heave the water round the cleaving prow. 

'J'he sail swells lightly overhead, 

And the streamer scarcely flutters ; all is still, 

But the petrel as he circles round, 

And skims the wave with snowy wiDg. 



'Tis midnight — and the mooa 
Hus lit her lamp in heav'n. 
Around lier silver throne 
The twinkling stars grow pale, 
So bright she pours her beams. 
Below her, o'er the sta, 



207 

Spread like a floor of glass 

Unruffled by the winds, 

IJer image travels on. 

As the mariner looks at the wake of the ship, 

lie sees a long track of light behind, 

-And the sparkling foam a world olgems. 

I hear the voice of mirth, 

The song of love, and the flute's soft note 

Floating o'er (he wave. 

A white sail steers its course against the mooi*^ 

And seems a sheet of snow. 

Beneath its shade the music breathes-^ 

*Tis the ship of joy that sails. 

Streamers of silk wave on the topmast 

Shining with purple and gold. 

So light the west wind blows, — 

The sails flap and (he cordage creaks : 

While moving to the sound of flutes 

The long white oars in order strike 

And cut the marble main. 



The morn is young in heaven, 

And (he light is spread over the mountains r 

The sky is blue above, 

And the earth is green below ; 

The mist rolls over the rocks, 

And curls its light folds in the valley ; 

The grass is wet with dew, 

A gem is on every twinkling blade ; 

The song of the birds has awak'd the sleeper, 

AfldJie starts on his journey anew. 



Q) 



A TRAGEDY. 19=^20 



DRAMATIS PERSOx\iE. 



Abdallah, 

Zamor, 

Almajvzor, 

Ibrahim, 

a lh our an, 

Omar, 

Amru, 

Zethajt, 

Alojtzo, 



Alzira, 
Fat IMA, 

ZOJREIDE. 



King of Granada^ 
General of his army^ 
Prince of Granada^ 

< Ojfficer in the army^ a cornpatt- 

( ion of Z amor f 



Companion of ^Imansor, 
Officer in the Guards^ 

i Prince of Castile, AbdallaJC^ 

\ prisoner. 

Princess of Granada. 
i Her companion^ beloved by Ah 
\ manzor. 
.■3 Pendant of A Izirc^. 



ACT 1. 

^CENE I.— .^ Dungmi. 

ALOifzo, Solus. 

I SIT in lone and utter wretchedoes? . 
Immured within tiiese gloomy walls, I pioa 
And long for liberty : sweet liberty I 
Thy worth ne'er felt till lost ; oh I shall I nevet 
Regain thee ? am I always thus to live, 
Shut in this cheerless dungeon, dark as death 
And chill as winter? Oh 1 the lovely days, 
"VVhen peace and innocence their sweetest balm 
fehed o'er me, when my dreams were extacy, 
And waking thoughts were rapture. 
Such was my happy fortune, once a prince, 
The son of great Alphonso, he whom nobles, 
That shine around the throne, and humble pel" 

sants, 
Love and admire — a warrior, and renown'd 
For desperate feats in battle, courteous 
And honour'd at my father's court, esteem'd 
By all who knew me ; but how great the 

change — 
A dungeon for a palace, gloom fcr joy, 
Fetters for arms and tears for smiles and rap* 

ture. 
The sun arises, but scarce through ray grate 
It sheds a glimpse of day ; all— all is dsrk, 
Is comfortless and gloomy ; down the wai! 
The chilly drops are trickhng, o'er the floor 
Of stone, that seems like winter to the to^ch, 
\ wander back and forth from morn till even. "tj^. 
This — this is all my comfort, but to pry 
With strainifitT eye between my narrow grates* 
And catch a elance of life aud liberlv. 



212 

Was man thus made to live ? to waste bis days 

In hopeless inactivity? to lose 

Tlie faire?t portion of his youth in grief 

And fruitless lamentations? If I could, 

1 would be cheerful ; but can joy abide 

Within these wails of stone ? Should mirth herself, 

Knter these gloomy vaults, her smiles would 

cease, 
And livid paleness blanch her rosy cheek. 

[Enter Zamor. 
But Avhc comes here to harrow up my feelings? 

Zamor. A friend, a real friend, to sooth thy 
anguish, 
And ponr the balm of comfort in thy soul. 
I r.ro a Moor, but still, [ have compassion ; 
1 too can feel and weep for others woes ; 
r love to see the smile of joy and pleasure 
Bhine in liie cotnitenance of others; often, 
When grief wa9 preying on the wretched priso- 
ner, 
P.ve sought him out amid these gloomy dungeons, 
And tried to speak compassion to his soul. 
Oft have I seen thee prying through Ihy grate, 
With haggard countenance and swollen eye 
Red with excessive weeping; I too know 
Thy name ; thou art the excellent Alonzc-— • 
A name that I admire ; yes, though a Moor, 
I do admire aud love thee. 

Alonp-.o. Dost thou love me ? 

Have I a friend, when; ali, I thoU, were enemies ? 
Oh, fortunate Alonzo I though despairing 
And wretched, still thosi art not quite forsaken : 
The words, "I love thee," oh 1 they sound to me 
Sweet as the music of the heavenly choir. 

Zamor. Alonzo ! though I cannot promiga 
freedom, 
-ill, i will he thy friend and comforter, 

Vi!l cah'B thy wounded spirit, eooth thy grk'^V 
\nd make thy dreary pri^oa sckJtn murv v"hec.r''"^» 
Jnt kno^y'5t thou 7.amo»' ? 



213 

Alonzo, Yes, I know his nrtmcj 

lis name, that strikes such terror in the chris- 
tian. 
Vherc Zamor is, the valiant Spaniard trembles ; 
le knows the prowess of that dreadful arm, 
^n arm more dreaded by thy foes in battle, 
rhan all the vaunting Mufsulraen beside. 

Zamor. Kcovv, I am Zamor — start not at the 
sound ; 
^or Zamor, though in battle he be dreadful, 
ind furious as a tiger, still m peace 
s gentle as a lamb : Zamor, the warrior, 
:;;an soften down his iron brow^ and seem 
I'lild as the infant : though when duty calls, 
le summon up the vigour of hi? courage 
I'd the highest pitch, when helpless misery 

pleads, 
s gentleness, and mercy. Though I'm Zamor, 
10 dreaded h}' thy nation, trfmble not, 
?ut see ia me a gentle, failhlul friend. 
)ost thou remember, after that fierce battle 
30 sad to thee, when thou wert taken prisoner, 
fhat thou v,-ert bro't before the great Andallah ? 
iaw'st thou not then, beside ihe mighty king, 
^ beauteous maiden, deck'd in all the charms 
)f youth and modesty, ihn first and fairest 
Uxiong the Moors, tl»e prize for which the noble 
S.n(\ youthful warrior courts the fields of danger * 
>he was Alzira, great AbdallahVs daughter ; 
Jhe saw thy manly countenance, tiie spirit 
Hiut never can be conquered in thy eye, 
Ind iov'd tiiee; yes^ 'tis true Aizira Jov'd 
Vlonzo ; siia enirusted unto me 
Phis secret, bade me seek thy gloomy dungcor;, 
Ind do to thee this errand ; she can never, 
>he fears, do more, than free thee from thy 
5ut wiiiie Alzira loves thee, and a tViend [prison : 
S found in "flighty Zamor, ne'fir despair. 



214 

ALo^'zo, Solus. 
U this my foTtune, thus to find, amid 
Rage and barbarity, a friend and lover, 
To indulge a hope offrcedonn ; was there ever 
A happier hour than this? uiy heart seems 

bursting 
From my excessive joy. Oh then be thankful, 
Alonzo I raise thy humblest adoration, 
Thy warmest thanks to Him, who rules the 

world, 
And gives to misery peace, hope to despair. 



SCEXE 11.—.^ Room. 

ZauiIO^jSoIus, 

IMj soul is black with fury ; oh I bum 
With all the fires of hell; my heart is tora 
By every passion — love, rage, despair, 
Hatred and jealousy, they rack my breast 
With tortures worse than death : to be disgrac'd, 
Struck from the list of warriors, where 1 shone 
"^V' ith such a splendour, love and be detested 
By her I love, and see a Spanish prisoner 
FreferrM to me ; O ! can I bear all this? 
]Vo, never, never; now my spirits burn 
With deathly rancour ; I would plung-e my dag- 
ger 
A tiicusand times in proud Abdallah's heart ; 
Td tear it from his breast and see it quiver 
With eyes of rapture ; Oh ! 'twould give me 

To see the dogs feed on his mangled carcass. 
What 1 in the si^-hl of all his armies, break 
My svvord in twain and lell me to retire? 
Oh then I ^naw'dmy lips with fury, burnM 
With tlery rage, and s-.vore Vd never, nevcTj 
Fv'n if a thousand vesrs shou!d intervene. ' 



215 

Forget my hatred lill I was reveng'd. 
I'd pass through fire to indulge my deathly hate ; 
I'd tear his heart, I'd wash these hands in bloodj 
Rather that not revenge. Zacaor can never 
Forgive, that is a mark of woman's vi^eakness, 
Bhati Zamor, he who prides Lira in his bold 
And daring fury, sinli so low as woman? 
Shall I be merciful? shall I forgive? 
['d die by torture first, I'd see the darae* 
Burn me by piecemeal, ere I'd sink so lew. 
2amor, did«t thou not see the meanest soldiers 
Point at thee with their fingers, and insult 
\nd laugh at thy misfortunes? they exclairii'd, 
' He, w:ho was proud and felt himself a god, 
s now as low as we ; yes, haughty Zamor 
4as lost his greatness". Did I then not burn 
fierce as the flames that sweep the summeiL 

forest? 
^nd shall I now forgive ? No, never, never ;.. 
'II be reveng'd on all my enemies, 
'11 stop not til! I triumph o'er Abdallah, 
Ml see Alzira's beauties wrapp'd in clay, 
^nd free Alonzo from his gloomy dungeoe^ 
to hide hira in the dungeon of the grave. 



SCENE III.— .3 Garder:, 

Ibrahim, Solus^ 

Sweet is the freshness of the morning air^ 
rhe rising sun h pleasant, and the breeze 
Spreads a soft coolness thro' m,y feverish fram-^ 
Cot so ray heart, it still with anguish bleeds, 
Lnd fierce resentment burns ; while all around 
s gay and cheerful, I am sunk and sad. 
rhe thrush is singing on yon bending spray, 
i^he linnet flutters round the opehing rose 
•hPerfully vtarbling, even the very groT?;?^ 



216 

Gilt by the vernal sunbeams, seem to smile': 
Still I am sad, a heavy gloom overspreads 
My melancholy heart ; I feel a cold 
instinctive shuddering creep along my veins. 
Why should I fear? why should this trembling 

shake 
My form, that oft has borne the brunt of war? 
Is vengeance then so hard, it makes me shrink 
To attempt it ? No I I feel my righteous cause, 
I feel that heaven commands me to revenge. 
What ! shall I stand to see my dear companion^ 
Who oft has fought undaunted by my side, ' 
And with me march'd to danger and to victory, '* 
To see this friend disgracM ? to see him stripped 
Of all his hard-earn'd honours? No, by heaven I 
While I've a sword, Zamor shall be reveng'd. 

Enter AlhourAn and Omar. 
Ihrahim. How pleasant is the morning, doesH 
not raise 
Your spirits ? doesU not wake the cheerful smile? 
Why? what is this? why look you so disheart- 
ened ? 
What cause of grief, while all around is lovely? 

Alh. Yesterday I dost thou not remember it? ; 
Oh I shall ne'er forget it ! 

ibrah. What of it? 

What sad event has sunk your manly feeling?, 
So gay and buoyant once, to such despair ? 

Alh. Dost thou not well remember yesterday? 
Oh I shall ne'er forget it I 

Ibrah. Ne'er forget it I 

"What dreadful accident has theu befall'n you ? 
Alh. Zamor, whom we adore, the noble war- T 
rior, 
The generous chieftain, Zamor, was disgracM, 
Yes, shampfully di.^grac'd, on yesterday. 
Omar. Yes,'cursed be the wretch, who darM 
that deed J 



217 

Dh were Ihc dastard but within my reacL« 
I'd make him feel the sharpness of this steel. 
Ibrah. Hush ! be more quiet ; but this sad 
event 
STecd not depress you so : cheer up, my friends, 
k^'engeance is easy, when our cause is just. 
Alh. What are we, Ibrahim, before this 
tyrant ? 
^l€re helpless, feeble worms, for him to tread on. 
3h 1 had my arm but strength to wield the blow-, 
'd strike the despot prostrate from his throne. 
Omar. And I have strength, and I will sooa 

exert it, 
Alh. Exert thy strength against the great 
Abdallah? 
Tis madness ; what ! attempt the tyrant's life 
^y thy own hand alone ? No ! never try 
^o desperate, so foolish aa adventure. 
Omar. Justice and heaveo shall give mt 

strength to do it. 
Alh. Justice and heaven, against his Eighty 

power, 
fear, will not avail thee ; canst 11. j.u break 
fhe gates of brass that close his lofty palace ? 
il/'anstthou o'ercome the guards, who'watch like 

Argus 
Phe least approach of danger? Oh ! be quiet, 
^nd let thy sabre rest within its scabbard. 
Omar. Ah ! thou wouldst weep to think 
thou'rt such a coward, 
Ud wish and long for strength to strike the 

blow; 

5ut I have now that strength. 
AVi. What say'st thoir, 

Omar, 
rhat I am coward ! hell and fury seize thee. 
Ibrah. Stop I stop I my friends I let no unhap- 
py quarr-'h 
Disturb us ia this dark and daocerous hour-. 



218 

Tliis is an hour of peril, ere we draw 
Another breath, dipgrace may be our lof^ 
Or ignominious death ; oh ! be united, 
fieserve your courage for the hour of trial, 
And strike no blow but for the hero Zanior. 
But, gallant Omar, stay thy headlong rashnes^^ 
Heflect upon the deed that lliou wouidst do, 
Think of 4he power that circles round that 

throne, 
Think of lh€ lofty towers, the embattled walls, 
And massive gates, think of the num'rous 

guards, 
That wait, with sword in hand, each bold inva- 
der, 
Prepared lo strike the traitor to the heart ; 
Oh ! think of these, and moderate thy fury. 
But oh, Alhouran ! cheer thy drooping spirits ; 
The cause is not so desperate a> thou think'st r 
'r.':ough fortune lours with such a gloomy aspect 
Upon ys now, the time may come, my friend, . ; 
When victory shall declare for noble Zamor, 1 
When he sri.'ll triumph o'er the insulting tyrant j i 
.And bid each despot tremble for his throne. 1 
Jllh. Fortune may favour, but our hope is | 

feeble. I 

Jbrah. No, not so feeble as thou thiok'st,, i 

Alhouran. j 

fJidst thou not mark, when proud AbdalJah j 

dar'd, 
Before bis armies, break the sword of Zamor, 
flow vengeance lour'd upon the soldier's brow? 
Alh. 1 saw them grin a ghastly smile of 

f ieaeure. 
To see this godlike hero sc? disgraced ; 
But none, I saw, would draw a sword to aid 

him. 
Ibrah. Thou sawst not right : the fai^Jfiful, 

troop, whom Zamor 
Led on to' TictcTv Iq all tis battles, 



219 

The brave ten Ihousand, bad'st thou seen their 

eyes 
Flashing with fury, and their grinding (eeth, 
Thou would'st not be so cheerless in this hour : 
Tes, wiien the tyrant, with his voice of thunder, 
ExclainriM, " depart — thou dastard, from my 

armies. 
And take this shivered blade," this faiUiful 

troop, 
"Who lov'd their gallant leader to distrcctirn, 
Were all on fire ; I paw them all on tiploe 
To make the assault, I saw each bosom swell| 
1 saw each hand instinctive grasp the sword, 
And every countenance wro't high to vengeance. 
AUi. Hope then revives vvithia my anxious. 

breast ; 
Yes, now methinks I see my friend revengM, 
And the proud tyrant humbled. 

Omar. 1 will wait, 

Till we can strike at once. 

Ibrah, Come then, my frioad.?, 

And let us swear a firm fidelity ; 
Yes, on these swords so oft in battle criiasonM 
With Spanish blood — jesk, we will svvedir by 

hc-av'n, 
And all the happiness of Paradise, 
To cling with all our enf.rgies to Zaraor, 
To hold our swords in readiness to slrikt*, 
When fortune favours, the deciKJvc blow 
Of vengeance, on the haughty tyrant's head. 



ACT II. 

SCENE L—A Room. 

IbraJu 2^amor. 

Zamor. What dost thou want ? dtalurb m^ 
not : 
|My heart already is too Cn\\ cf 'rouble. 



220 

IbraJi, My friend,! come to ease thee of that 
load. 

Zamor. Thy friend. No, I'm the enemy of ail, 
Vve sear'd my heart against each tender feeling, 
1 -am the friend of none, not even of thee, 
For all mankind are leagued for ray destruction. 

Jhrah. Canst thou believe me faithless ? 

Zamor. Yes, believe thee, 

T know, thou art. I've seen too well the worldy 
I've seen how empty is that whining thing, 
They call a friend, and I have shut mj heart 
J''orever 'gainst the siren song? of friendship ; 
No, there is nought in friendship, nought but 

sounds, 
Base, hollow sounds, in all those protestation?. 
Which friends are pouring in each others ears : 
I hate the world, I loathe each human feature, 
And I will be reveng'd on all mankind. 

lOrah. No I thou shalt never be reveng'd on 
rae, 
For there is nought in me to excite thy ven- 
geance ; 
Have I not always closely clung around thee, 
Although the chillest frosts of adverse fortune j 
Beniimb'd thee.' | 

Zamor. Did adversity benumb me ? j 

'Vo, never ; I will never lose my spirit, | 

l'!i rise superior to these puny insults, ' 

But i will be reveng'd — 

Ihrah. 0(i have I stood 

Before thy bosom in the hour of conflict, 
A'.-.d took the blow they aim'd ag-^iust thy life. 

Zamor. Oh hadst (!iou let tSicm strike,] 
thou'dst been my friend ; 
Then i liad fallen in the midst of glory, 
rVor ever liv'd to see this foul disgrace. 

Ihrah, Arid cannot I assist thee in thy ven*' 
geance ? 
Chn I not show ;n this I am thv rdcnil . 



221 

Zainor. Leave me to work the vengeful deed. 

alone ; 
I want no aid, the conqueror of Spaia 
Sfhali never stoop to ask for ought to aid him ; 
I'll be revengM by this {lifting his right arm) 

and this alone. 
Jbrafu And ho'rV wilt thou o'ercome the 

hoary tyrant? 
Is strength and valour mightier than his pow'r ? 
Canst thou alone, undaunted as thou art, 
Canst thou overcome the thousands that snr- 

roirnd hino. 
And force thy way to vengeance by thy arm? 
Zam. I'll make the attempt and die, or bd 

reveng'd. 
Jbrah. Let prudence rather take the place 

of rashness ; 
Wait for some kind conjuncture, when the task 
I? easiest, then with failhfu! Ibrahim 
And the brave legion, thou hast led to glory, 
in every conflict with our Christian foes, 
^how to the tyrant, vengeance never dies, 
But only sleeps till she can strike securely. 
Zam. What saj'st thou, Ibrahinoj my legioi^ 

faithful ? 
Do thc}- remember still their valiant leader? 
This gives me life, this fires my soul anew, 
And yields its wonted vigour to my arm. 

Ibrah. Yes, they are faithful, yes, they love 

thee, Zamor, 
.\\vh-i with a maiden's fondnessj they would tri- 
umph 
And think it happiness to die for tiiee : 
I know it, I have seen it in their eyes 
And read it in their features, I did mark 
Ke?entment burning in their manly breast?. 
When thou wert yesterday so mea'nly strippM 
Oi"a!l t,lie honors w«n by thee *o nobly. 



222 

Zam. Then there is hope ; give me that val- 
iant leirioti, 
Let all the world arise in arms against me, 
And I can bid defiance : now, thou tjrant, 
Thy doom is fix'd, thou soon shall feel my rage, 
Thou soon fhalt know, how dark, how terrible 
Is vengeance in the bosom of a Moor. 



gCENE U.—A Room in the Palace. 



OjycE more the Spaniard and his mouoiaia- I 

eers 
Pour o'er the northern bills to assault'Granada ; 
Though conquer'd, still they never will submit, 
Firm as the rocks in which they hide themselves. 
They never are subdued unless by death. 
I've seen them flying from the Moorish squad- ^ 

rons I 

la wild dismay, Pve seen them seek their moun- 

tains, 
And pathless deserts, and have hought them 

conquer'd ; 
But not a month had passed, before a band 
Of these njarauders, from their serpent dens, 
Had roub'd my hosts to arms ; I never fear- 

them, 
One firm attack will scatter all their courage 
And send thera trooping to their caves again. 
But I have lost the jewel of ray army, 
Him, whom the Spaniards fear, at whose ap- 
proach i 
Their courage withers and their spirits fail" j 

ihem ; 1 

^Tis Zamor — yes, in an unlucky hour, | 

By passion driven, I darM disgrace my liero ; i 
Y?«?, darM, for { was risking aiUuy eaapirc i 



225 

On such a deed, for Zaraor is the rock 
On which Abdallah and his fortunes rest; 
Strike but that prop away, my power and glofy 
Are gone ; come then, and try to sooth his 

feelings, 
Restore him to his honours, and beside 
Heap others on him ; then with noble Zamor 
To guide my armies in the fields of glory, 
Pll brave the haughtiest power that rules OQ 
earth. 

[Enter Slave, 
Have you bid Zamor come before me, ha ! 
Slave. Yes, mightiest King ! and soon, he' 
bade me tell thee, 
ile would approach thy presence. 

^bd. Then retire. 

[Slave exit. 
Now Pm myself again. Abdallah now 
Need never fear the Spaniard, for that arm, 
Which guides the battle, still is link'd with 
mine. [Zamor enters. 

^amor, canst thou forgive an injury ? 

Zamor. Yes, noble Lord ! forgive with all my 
soul. 
Canst thou belieTC, that sueh a thing as Tea«<i 

geance 
Can ever find a seat within my breast ? 
This bosom, made for fortitude and honor, 
E'er harbor such a monster? No ! Abdallah, 
He is mistaken who can e'er believe it. 
No ! no ! Abdallah, to forget is pleasant 
And sweeter to forgive ; I'll never stoop 
So low as vengeance, murderers and assassins, 
Who lurk in night and darkness to destroy, 
May think of vengeance, Zamor never will. 
Abd. These noble sentiments become thea 
well, 
Become the conqueror and dread of armieSj 
Him, whom the brutal robber of Algiers, 



224 

Startles to sec, at whom the SpaiilurcT tn-.mUb^. 
Za.xnoT I Pve call'd thee to restore thy honors 
And crown thy head with glory ; Til forget 
The unhappy hour, when I could dare disgrace 

thee, 
If thou wflt but forgive. 

Zatnor. Yef, I forgive 

A thousand times, I always have forgiv'n thee, 
I knew if thou hadst only known the truth, 
Thou never would'st have thought of such a 

thing-, 
And therefore I forgive thee. 

jibd. Yes, tis true, 

I did the deed from ignorance alone. 
Thou well remeinberest that luckless day, 
When Hadi's corps retir'd before Alphonso? 
That cause of grief to every Musgulnaan, 
^Twas rumour'd round, was all coniriv'd by 

thee ; 
PasEJon then got the better of my reason, 
And in my rage I drove thee from thy station 
And broke thy sword. Thou well remeraber'st 

this ? 
Zamor. Yes, noble Lord I [aside] and I wi!i 

ne'er forget it. 
^bd, I never, Zamor, would have mov'd a 

hand 
To hurt a hair of thine, had I but known. 
That guilty Hadi'e cowardice was all 
The cause of that misfortune, but this sabre 
lias cropt the honours of that dastard wretch, 
But, Zamoi\ in this hour when danger calls, 
Wilt thuu receive thy former honours, fresh, 
And deck'd with others;' wilt thou lead my 

hosts 
To drive the Spaniards to their hills again ? 
2aniO)\ Yes, noble Lord, I'll show these in- 
fidels, 
Thai 2anQor^3 arm is ?tiil as stror.a: 2^3 ever. 



225 

That it can sweep thy enemies, Abdallah ! 
A3 the breeze sweeps the down along the fields. 

Ahd. My duty calls me, and I must retire ; 
But, faithful Zamor, take my lion standard 
Crown'd with the crescent of the blessed Ma- 
homet, 
And with it lead my troops to victory; 
Spread slaughter and dismay among the Span- 
iards, 
And make these christian wretches learn to 

start 
And tremble at the names of great Abdallah 
And mighty Zamor; but before I leave thee, 
I ask again, canst thou forget thy injury ? 
Zamor, Yes, noble I^ord I forgive, forget, for- 
ever. [/Ibdallah exit.] 
Forgive I forget I no, Zamor never can ; 
Internal hatred burns within this bosom. 
Eternal hatred to the proud Abdallah, 
Wjiich ne'er can be appeas'd but by his blood, 
I'd see destruction level this proud city, 
I'd see the flames roll o'er this lofty palace, 
And myself struggling beneath the ruins, 
Ere I'd forgive ; no I death, despair and fury 
IJave fixM their seats within this tortur'd 

breast : 
I'm bent on slaughter — yes, I'll be revenjj'd ; 
My glittering dagger thirsts so strong for blood, 
It burns my thigh ; 1 long to j^lunge its blade, 
Ev'n to the hilt, in proud Abdullah's bosom. 
In fair Alzira's lovely breast of snov/. 
And in the quivering heart of curst Alonzo. 
They talk of hell — their hell is nought to me ; 
[f there is such a thing as hell, tis here ; 
[ ne'er can feel worse torture than these passions, 
rhat boil within my breast: come then, y« 

fiends, 
ii)d drive your willing victim on to vengeance. 



226 

SCENE nh— J Room- 

Ai.ziHA, Solus, 

What crime is there in love? what ureai - 
ful guilt 
To fan this holy 6ame within my bosom ? 
Has then religion set such bounds ivs Ibis ? 
Must I for Moors alone indulge affection ? 
Jlard is my fate, to love and be depriv'd 
Of every fond endearment, even the sight 
Of him 1 love. Who would not love Aloozo : 
Who would not love such matchless excellence j 
In form, in features, and in mind so noble ? 
Oh 'twas a luckless hour for ray enjoyment, 
When he was brought before my honour'd fa- 
ther. 
Though bound in chains and fetters, though a 

. captive, 
And sunk by hard misfortune, I did mcwk 
That noble spi; a burning in his breast, 
Did mark iiis lofty eye, that scorn'd submission, 
And even corapell'd respect from all around. 
But was a mortal ever made so perfect ? 
,'ruch princely features ! such a faultless form ' 
An eye so dark and piercing, and a look 
'i hat raark'd at once the hero and the lover * 
And could I shun adoring one, whom nature 
Had fashion'd as t!-. noblest of her works ? 
And must I now be wretched f must I pine 
And sink beneath the gloom of disappointment : 
Oh could 1 but escape these cruel fetters, 
W hich bigotry and zeal have thrown around me, 
And seek with him, amid those distant hills, 
A safe retreat, ah I then the humblest cottage 
And plainest fare would give me more delig'^ 
ThaQ all the honours that await me here. 
[Enler Fati 



Faiima, Why, v;by these tears, hh'ito. : w by 
so gloomj'-, 
When thou shculd'st rather strive to show thy 

people, 
Tliat thou art cheerful in this dangerous hour? 
Ah I dost thou fear some youtliful Moor will fall 
On tliis eventful day ' one whom thou lov'st ■ 

.^iz. Faiima, I can never love a Moor; 
Alas ! my heart is promis'd to another. 

Fat. Throw off these gloomy feelings, I be- 
seech thee ; 
Let reason rule awhile, for it will show thee, 
How vain, how foolish is thy misplac'd love. 
Alz. Mi^plac'd ! FatimaJ canst thou tell me 
sc? 
Can there be aught misplaced on one so perfect ? 
Fat. So hopeless, then, for sure thou caost 
not dare 
To violate the laws of blessed Mahomet ; 
And will thy father see his dear Alzira 
JoinM to an infidel ? 

Jlls. Oh wretched princess 1 

What all my honours, what is all the pomp 
That circles round my throne ? what are they 

DOW, 

Tut goading thorns to increafe ir.y misery ? 
And why should beav'n demand this sacnfite ; 
Can there be aught in love, in pure affection, 
To onend the chasten'd eye of Deity ? 

Fal: Oh talk not thus, my dearest friend, I. 
] ray thee 1 
Ijet not .i'jch words e'er issue from thy lips I 
For should they reach thy fatht;r's ear, destruc- 
tion 
Would surely be thy lot. 

^']iz. Hut could my father 

Destroy bis only daughter? why not rather 
•latrease my happine??, and give me one 
!:i whom uiv every wi^h would be indulged' 



22-8 

Fat. Little thou know'st, Alaira I what a 
spirit 
Thy father has ; indeed he loves his children 
With strong affection, but his rage is stronger : 
Beware, lest thou excite his fierce resentoient. 

jils. But can roy father ever hurt Alzira ? 
Say, can he injure one he calls his darling? 
One who has wept with hixn, soolhM all his 

grief 
And smil'd when he was happy, who so oft 
Has sung his cares to sleep ? 

Fat. AH this may be, 

And more ; but still if thou should'st rouse his 

wrath, 
The sacred name of daughter would not shield 

thee J 
Thy voice, though melting in the softest tones 
Of tenderness, could not subdue his heart ; 
Oh do not, I beseech thee, rouse his wrath. 

^Is. What shall I do? must I be miserable, 
Must cankering care destroy my every comfort, 
And sink me to despair? would I could be 
The humblest maiden in the wilds of Castile ! 
Then I might think of hope. 

Fat. And thou may'st now, 

For time will wear away each fond impression., 
And cool the strongest passion. 

^Is, It can never 

Remove his lovely image from my breast ; 
There 'tis intomb'd forever, nought, but death j 
Can rob my bosom of this fond idea, 
Ah it can never fads but in (he tomb. 
Fat. Then take my condolence, 'tis all my 
store 
,0f comforts can bestow. Thou know'st, Al 

zira I 
What strong affection I have felt for thee, 
That I would shield my friend from injury 
And make thee happy, wer«i it in my pow'r ; 



229 

But now I feel my weakness, now I fee/, 
Fcttiina's utmost strength, exerted for thee, 
Is feeble as the dyiug iofant's breath. 

[Fatima exiU 
J Is. And is this all thy conafort r Oh Alziral 
Wretched thou art indeed ; a settled gloontt 
Is darkening every charm, I once was proud of ,' 
Ah it has robb'd my cheek of every rose, 
That bloom'd so brightly there, ah it has dim'd 
Those eyes, my father us'd so oft to praise 
And call iiis diamonds ; soon Mwill break my 

heart 
And lay rae in that tomb, where every sorrow 
la sooliVd and every storm is hush'd to rest. 



ACT III. 

SCEiNE I. Dungeon. 

Alonzo, Solus. 

Mt dungeon still is dark, the beams of hope 
Cannot illume its dreary, gloomy vaults; 
My soul still lingers for its darling home. 
Still lingers for my parent, and my friends. 
The son of great Alphonso, now a wretched 
And solitary captive, in a dungeon 
WalPd round with stone and void of every com-. 

fort; 
No ray of light i? seen, but that which glimmers 
Through yonder narrow grate, no sound is heard, 
But when the bat flits by on filmy wings, 
Or in the tow'r the bird of night complains. 
All, all is dark and dismal, all is still. 
This dreary dungeon seems the prisoner's grave, 
The gloomy charnel-house of living death. 
But solitude and darkness, though they frees© 
My xery soul, are not rcy direst evils ; 
^ris ansious expectation of the future. 



230 

Oft have I sat at midnight, when the stars 
Just showed their twinkling forms between my 

grates, 
And shook at every breeze that whijlled by. 
Methonght I heard the dying prisoners groan 
Sound in the blast ; I trembled and I feared, 
Some sabred Moor was coming to dispatch me. 
Then Ivvouid bear a feeble, hollow sound, 
Amid the distant voulta: roethought I heard 
'j'he tread of midnight murderers ; then despair 
Jltj^hM o'er my feelings and I felt like death : 
Again the owl, moaning at darkest midnight, 
Would strike my ear and seem the shriek of ter- 
ror ; 
I lislen'd, and the sound was still repeated; 
1 started from my cold and wretched bed 
And hasted to my grate; the full orb'd moon, 
Then riding in her zenith, silver'd o'er 
The distant walls, and from the lofiy towers 
Spread sljadovvs wide and vast; the night was 

still, 
A beauteous radiance shone on yonder mountain, 
And play'd upon the distant waving trees, 
7'he lonely owl at times was heard to wail, 
The chilling breezes whistled round, the walls 
And cooPd the fever of my burning temples. 
This is my greatest pleasure, thus to brood 
On my misfortimes ; even my soul is us'd 
-Ho much to misery, it has smooth'd its terrors 
And soften'd down the iron of its brow: 
Sfilj I am not so hardened to desjiair, 
'i'hat ! am hsppy in this wretched dungeon ; 
Ycs, I am miseiable, but for one hope, 
The hope cf freedom, by the aid of Zamor : 
This keeps my courage up from sinking wholly 
J!) dark despair ; before he came and bless'd 
My ears with that dear sound, '' I am thy 

friend," 
' rJmost loit each li-pe oriilert^^, 



231 

I wish'd for death and yet I fear'd (o die, 
1 fear'd to think upon my dissolution, 
And look ioto the darkness of the grave. 
Had I no hope, I should indeed be wretched ; 
Had I no friend, this vvorld would be a deseit ; 
Had not this Zainor, with a voice of mi n;y, 
Soolh'd my poor broken heart, i no\7 had be:en 
Sunk in complete despair ; but while lie lives 
And 'peaks the same kind avoids tapoor Aloozo, 
1 sttll shall hope, whatever may bttide me. 

[Enler Zamor. 
Zamor, hast thou come here ajraia to sooth me 
And ciietrmy wouuded heart? 

Zamor. Yes, dear Alonzo, 

Acain I come to feed thy soul with hope. 
Stil! hope, Alonzo ; thou raay'st yet be free ! 
Before the sun has set behiod tho.-e hills, 
Thou.may'st have liberty, my dear Alonzo. 

.4/o7t20.~What say'st thou,*Zan!',r ? shall ! jct 
be free, 
And that before the shades of evening close ? 
Or dost thou tahtalize me with vai.'v hopes ? 

Zamor. Alonzo, 1 can never l;e so cruel, 
As thus to raise the pris'ner's expectations 
By promises and hopes as vain as wind ; 
Believe me, when I tell thee, that ere nigiit 
Has clos'd around thy head, thonmay'st be frT, 

.Alonzo. Zamor, can I believe thee ? Oh. this 
Of joy supreme ! O, fortauate Alonzo! [hour 
Oh, blesfe'd above all bless'd ! this day be free ? 
It thrills the very life-strings of my boscm I 

Zamor. Alonzo, greater happine«5 awaits thee, 
Lovely Alzira comes this day to see thee, 
Before thou leav'st thy prison, to console thee, 
I And speak more heavenly mr.iic to thy ear, 
I Than Z?anor can. — 

Alonzo. But Zamor, do not leave 

Stay, and partake with me my exultation, [me,, 
Stay, and enjoy with ane this hour of triumph ' 



232 

y.amor. Aionzo, duly calls, I must "bej, 
Else I would stay and keep lliee company 
Year after year; slill hold (hy courage up, 
Let not despondency depress thy soul. 
But still remenrjber, ere the sun has set, 
Alonzo shall be free. — 

Alonzo, My faithful Zamor, 

I cannot speak the ardour'of tny feelings, 
I caDnot speak the strength of my affection 
For one so good, so merciful as thou. 

\Zamor exit. 
Thia is an hour of triumph, (his an hour 
or highest exultation I soon, ray friends, 
Shall I embrace you, soon my native hills 
Shall meet my longing eye, and down the vale, 
Where oft I spe^t the hours in boyish sports, 
1 soon shall $ce t^e rivulet descend; 
Then cease my niurmurs, cease from all ray 
^ad let thisjday bij given to exultation, [grief, 



SCENE II.— v^ lioom in the Palace. 
Aedallah amd Zamor. 

Abd. This is the time to show thy daring 

soul ; 
Our hateful foes approach the city wall?, 
And waste the fields before them ; all is terror, 
'{'he shepherd leaves his tlock upon the mountain, 
The swain his vineyard in the sunny valley, 
'J'he villager his home, in vvild dismay 
They crowd our gates and ask us for a shelter, 
'Twas late, I look'd around me from my tower, 
And saw behind the hiiis the smoke ari«iug, 
Where nowth? Spaniards ravage ; o'er the fields 
1 saw the crowd of outcasts, from their homes 
And pleasant farms, pursue their anxious flight, 
And ID the hot pursuit, a oruel troop 



253 

Odhcse banditti ; out, this instant out 
With all my forces, lead them to the hattle, 
Rout these marauders, give them to the slaagh- 
Or send them headlong to their dens again, [ter, 

Zamor. iVIy noble lord, these christian clogs 
shall feel 
The vigour of ray arm, they soon shall know, 
Their utmost force, exerted 'gainst my prowess, 
Is feeble as the reed'« against the whirlwind. 
I have ten thousand IMussulmen, as brave 
As ever drew a sword ; I've seen them drive 
Through all the armies, Spain could ever muster, 
And scatter wide the sable hosts of I^ubiri ; 
I've seen them mount the breach, o'er friefids 

and foefl 
Pil'd high in slaughter, scale the lofty walls 
in spite of rocks and spears, rush llirough the 

city, 
Where every house concealed a lurking foo, 
And every step was danger, still undaunted, 
I've seen them drag their enemies to light 
And give them all promiscuously to death. 
But this, the time for action ; I will lead 
My fearless troops to meet the rufilan Spaniards, 
When I have done my duty, bj relating 
A truth, my lord, that dee[)ly doth concern thee. 

.^bd. What isit^ tell me. 

Zmnor. Canst thou hear 

the truth, 
Although disast'rous to thee? canst thou hear 
Of what will touch thy very tenderest feelings? 
Or wilt thou shut thy ear against my story ? 

Abd. Zamor, 1 both can hear of smiling for- 
And dark adversity ; the scngs of {)eace [tune 
^re sweet unto my soul, but still, when duty 
Calls rae, ^s'ilh ecpial readiness I listen 
To the most tiielancholy dirge of jdeath ; 
Not only 1 can \>.tiv of mournful truths, 
But I ivill hear them ; cursed be the wretch-, 
Who dares to leil a falshood to Abdallah. 



234 

7.amor. My lord Ab(la!!ah I if thou deign^t 
! tell my story, mournful as it is. [to hear me, 
Thou know'st Alonzo ? 

Ahd. Yes, and what of him ? 

Zamor. Thou know-st full well his noble 
countenance, 
His fortitude i» danger, and his spirit 
Uiidaunted in the presence of thy power? 
Abd. And what of that? Ziimor, has he 

escap'd ? 
Zamor. No — worse than that, would Alia that 
he had I 
Oh, had he left his prison, he had rescued 
A thousand sorrows from xAbdallah's bosom. 

Abd. Zamor. what now awaits me, is there 
Lurking within these walls ? [treason 

Zamor. No — wonse than that, 

A dart shall pierce thy heart more cruel far 
'i ban treason. 

Abd. What is-t, Zamor ? tell this in- 

Zamor. Alzira — [stanl? 

Aid. What! Alonao? tell me, Zamor. 

Zamor. ,\lzira, she, on whom thou'st fondlj. 
doated. 
Who, tiiou hast hop'd, would be the staff and 
Of thy declining year.«, yes, dear Alzira [stay- 
Is lost. 

,'l(fd. It cannot he; Oh! blessed Mahomet,. 
Have mercy OQ Abdailah. 

Zamor. Ye?, she's lost, 

And tuin'd by the beauty of Alonzo. 

Abd. Heavens! what is this? Oh mercjr>,. 
mercy or. me I 
Tell me, w.y Zamor ! tell me all the truth, 
llevea! th.:!; foulest mysteriei to my view. 

Zamor. Alzira, captivated by the coble 
And inr.iry features oi the young AlouzOj 
Lov'd him, she lov'd him with the warmest pas- 
sion. 



235 

^■Hd. What ! love an infidel, Oh misery 1 

Zamor. She lov'd him and she pined; the 
weary pilgrim, 
Fainting and thirsting: on Arabia's sands, 
Longs not more deeply for the cooling fountain, 
Than she for young Akmzo. 

.^bd. Oh, my heart I 

It breaks 1 it breaks with agony I 

Zamor. She pin'd, 

And rou?'d at length to furious desperation, 
Corrupted all the keepers of the prison, 
And sought her dear Alonzo in hi* dungeon ; 
There, read this letter, 'twill reveal the truth. 

Abd. Oh. fury ! rage! distraction 1 what, my 
child 
Become a Spaniard's mistress I heaven, have 

mercy. 
Have mercy on my soul ! Oh, poor Alzira ! 
Corrupted, vile Alzira I I did love ihee 
With all a parent's fondness ; ye?, I doaled 
With all the tenderness, that e'er a lover 
Felt for his mistress, on thy op'ning beauty ; 
I hop'd to see thee worthy of a crown, 
'J'he noble daughter of the great Abdallr.h ; 
But, heavens I thou now hast sunk to infamy, 
To infamy degrading ; thou shalt die 
And wash away thy infamy with blood. 

Zamor. Stop 1 stop ! Abdallah 1 hold thee 
from thy purpose. 
Perhaps Alzira still is innocent, 
I^erhaps she only sought her dear Alonao 
7^0 breathe her sijhs and tell her pa«>,«;ion Ip him ? 

»4W. Zamor, insult me Lot 1 I swear by 
heaven, 
She shall not liv'e 1 I'ii not survive this shame. 
If poor Alzira lives. 

Zamor. Oh, blessed Mahomet ! 

Console the feelings of my lord Abdallah ! 
I tell thee, i\rr. Alzira m?.v b« jniiotcrt 



236 

And spotless yet ; Oh, wilt thou bid her die. 
Because she lov'd Alonzo ! 

Abd. She shall die ! 

This instant she shall die. ! 

Zainor. Hear me, Abdallah I 

Hear me for mercj^s sake ! Oh spare Alzira, 
Spare her I thou knowst not yet, that she is 
guilty. 

Abd. Guilty ! she's guiHy as the fiends in hell. 
She dies this instant. 

Zamor. Hear me but one moment t 

Remember, sire, this is the first transgression ; 
Kemember, she has ever been a kind 
And duteous daughter. 

Abd. Oh! the incarnate devil. 

I've seen the fiend smile in her lovely face, 
But I will stab her spile of all her charms. 

Zamor. Remember she's thy daughter, and 
Alonzo — 

A'bd. She dies I what, she Aloozo's mistress ? 
help me, 
Oh justice ! aid me in this hour of conflict, 
With desperation steel me to the task, 
And firmly close each avenue to mercy. 

Zamor. Abdallah I I beseech thee, now have 
mercy, 
And spare her even if justice bid her die. 

Abd. Justice is sovereign, mercy must sub- 
mit. [Abdallah exit, 

Zamor. Oh blessed Mahomet 1 would there 
could be mercy. 
Mercy on wliom? 1 hope not on Alzira. 
Oh what a liappy circumstance is this I 
I now will ie^d my hatred with revenge. 
Alzira dead, she who could dare despite me 1 
Oh this is pieasure, 1 am now reveng'd. 
Oh I can now exult I one foe is dead, 
And soon I'll fire Abdallah's spirit on 
To plunge the dagger in AIogzo's bo^om, 



237 

And then '(is easy for me to destroy 
The hateful tyrant. Oh my plans succeed 
To my best wishes, then exult and triumph. 

[laughs-. 
Zamor, didst thou not hear a demon laugh .' 
Demons shall laugh and riot in thy ruin. 
Did conscience sting me f oh I'll blunt her sting 
And dull her arrows, thatlhcy cannot hurt me ; 
In spite of all her loudest, strongest cries, 
I'll burst each band of virtue, nor desist, 
Till all my foes are humbJed in the dust. 

[Enter Abdallah. 
Abd. Zamor, tis over now, the deed is done ; 
Zamor, the cruel, bloody deed is done ; 
Yes, I have shown me worthy of the prophet. 
But it was hard, it cost me many a pang ; 
She ]*)ok'd so sweet and lovely, yes, she smiPd 
And welcomed me with all the kmd affection, 
That children, in the innocence of youth, 
Life's tender season, for their parents feel. 
! almost melted, justice drove me on 
And gave unusual sternness to my bro-.v. 
?he wept to see me look so melanchciy, 
IVith voice of softest tenderness she said, 
' My father, what can ail thee? is there aught 
fhat troubles thee ? oh let me soothe thy sor- 
row's." 
she look'd so gentle, so affectionate, 
felt forgiveness rising in my heart; 
3ut justice call'd and bade me do the deed : 
seiz'd her ; trembling she exclaimed, *' my fa- 
ther, 
Vhat is the meaning of all this distraction .'" 
clos'd my eyes and drove the dagger home, 
he groan'd and feebly said, "my dearest pa- 

rent,'' 
ind died. I cast a look upon her corpse, 
I smile of peace was trembling on h€r Jipa, 



238 

ler eje was soft and mild, it look'd forgive- 
ness. 
She seeni'd nn angel rob'd in innocence, 
She seein'd a cherub sleeping. Is she guiitj ? 
Oh no ! 

Zamor. Abdallah I ac( not lilce a ciiild ; 
Come, let us hasten to the field of battle, 
Duty demands, the foe is near the walls. 



SCENE Ilf.— ^ Room in the Palace. 
Fatima and Zoreide. 

Fal. Ar.ziRA, oh Alzira I art thou gone 
And vanish'd from me quite? ah I thou ha?t 

left roe, 
A ])oor distracted female, friendlcfs, hopeless, 
"Without a single prop on which to re«t me. 
And art thou inurder'd ? What unholy arm 
Could lift itself against thy precious life ? * 

Ah who could be so lost to every virtue, 
To rifle such perfection ? canst thou tell rae 
The wretch, who darM this deed '' 

Zob. My noble mistrcifs ! 

The tale is so distressing to my heart, 
1 would that thou would'st spare me the recitals 

Fat. No, tell ine, I'm prepared for every truth, 
Tell me, although it rend my very heart strings. 
Tell me, although it be the work of fiends. 

Zob. 'Tv/as late I went see my noble priacesi 
At the accustom'd hour, but as I came, 
I saw one hurrying madly from her chamber 
Arm'd with a bloody dagger; then my heart 
Had almost faiPd me, scarcely could I enter 
'J'he scene of death, I found the princess bleed' 

ing 
And dying, oh it was a sight of woe, 
V.'ould mcU the hardest heart to tears of pily., 



239 

Fat. Tell me, I pray thee, nho the raurJertr 
was ? 

Zob. My tongue refuses. 

Fat. Tell me, I be?eech thee ! 

)h let my soul be rackM with doubt no more. 

Zob. Oh spare me, dearest raisire:?, canst 
fhou pity 
I helpless servant ? 

Fat. Nay, but tell me now, 

ve me at least oi 

Zob. The King. 

Fal. 'Tis so ; Abdallah then has murder'd 
lis dear and only daughter ; leave me now, 
Vnd let my heart give vent to all its anguish. 

[Zob. exit. 
K.nd is this now thy fate ? ah, I foresaw it, 

saw destruction hanging o'er thy head ; 
But how could I avert it, how could I, 
^Veak, helpless woman, ward away that blow ; 
Dh had I pow'r, my dearest, only friend ! 
1 hou long had'st liv'd, the fairest ilow'r that 

blew 
In this dark world ; oh I would die to save thee, 
And had 1 known the purpose of thy father. 
My corpse had weltered by the side of thine. 
Yes, I would die with thee, and shall I live. 
When every female friend of naine is gone ? 
What charm is there, that binds me to this 

world ? 
Almanzor — yee, indeed Almanzor lives, 
And I will live for him. What sounds are those, 
Th >t yonder breathe so faint and melancholy .' 
Ahj tis the dirge of angels o^er thy corse. 

The rose is pluck'd, that bloomed so brightly '; 
Its leaves are rent and blown away ; 
The bird has gone, that sung so lightly. 
In moraing, on the bending spray. 



240 

The eje is clos'd, that shone so clearly, 
The cheek, that glow'd, is wan and pale; 
The voice h still, we lov'd so dearly, 
A dart has pierc'd the nightingale. 

He-r blood is trickling on (he rose?, 
And dri{)ping from her wounded breast; 
A lifeless corse, the bird reposes 
And slunabers in her downy uest. 

And o'er her sings her widow'd lover, 
In wild, distracted tones, his woe ; 
His ruffled pinions, drooping, cover 
The bleeding form that lies below. 

The rose is pluck'd, the bird has flown. 
The eye is clos'd, the cheek is pale, 
The voice is still, and now alone 
We hear the moaning nightingale. 

[Enter Alinanzor.'] 
Aim. My dearest love 1 thou seest me arm'd a 
and ready ^ 

To meet the bold invaders of my counfry. 
But what, in tears ! is this the only welcome 
Thou giv'st thy gallant knight? but hearts like 

thine, 
So soft and lender, easily are melted 
By the least thought of danger to their lovers. ] 
Fat. Alraanzor, oh my dear, my only friend^ \ 
The only charm that binds me to this world, 
Without thee death would be my greatest - Jtn- 
fort. 
Aim. Why frighten'd bo., my angel ? tremble 
not, 
Almanzor shall not forfeit thy affection 
On this eventful day. 

Fat. I fear not that, 

I know thy dauntless courage. 



241 

.v?/m. Should I die, 

In death I'd show me worthy of thy love, 
Fal. I doubt not that, but oh my strength is 
gone ; 
Can I reveal this dreadful secret to thee ? 
.4lm. What? 

Fal. Art thou ready for a cruel blow. 

So cruel, it will noake all other sorroivs 
ijeem but the trifling sports of misery ? 
v^/zn. What can it be ? 
-Fat. Ah there it i?, Almanzor ; 

See it thyself, but no, 'twill kill ray love. 

Aim. Oh gracious heav'n I what, is this vi- 
sion real. 
Or but a phantasy, that racks my brain ? 
Alzira I oh my sister, art thon gone ? 
Oh hast thou parted from me in such haste, 
A= not to let me kiss thy dying cheek ? 
But is there bloxl ? oh gracious heav'n 1 she*-? 

murder'd ; 
And shall the murderer live? no, not one hour. 
^Vhere is the wretch, the base, the cruti 

wretch, 
Where can I find the savage r 

Fal. Oh Almanzor, 

Stay, slay thy passion and recall thy words ; 
Pify the wretched murderer, I beseech thee. 
He needs thy pity more than thy revenge. 
Ahx. Who is the wretch ? 
Fat., Alas ! he is thy father. 

Aim. My father! no; 'tis false, unkind Fa- 
tiraa I 
His heart could ne'er contain a fiend, whom 

hell 
Would ev'n disdain to hold. 

Fat. But it is true ; 

Tis true, thy father murder'd his Alzira. 
Aim. Can I believe it? would that ! were 
thr^re, 

w 



242 

Would I could sleep the sleep of death bt 

!ier. 
itly father I no I it is not so, Fatima, 
He never, never could be so abandonM 
And lost to every feeling. 

Fat. But 'tis (rue. 

Religious bigotry, that hateful monster, 
liiis ciriv'n hira on to sucli a slrcMch of guilt : 
But leave him, I beseech thee, to remorse 
\ad the just punishment-of righteous heav'n. 

JU:n. What shalll do? lay Lrain is all oo 
fire. 
Where shrdl I go ? Til hasten (o the battle, 
And in the fury of the conflict, cool 
'J'he flarues that burn me ; here, nriy dearest love, 
'J'ake tiie la«t kiss of such a wretch as I. 

Fal. But leave me not with such a wild fare- 
well ! 

.^Im. 1 go, I go to death. I hear the knell 
Riag in luy ears, that cails nrie to my grave. 
Hut, oh my love, grant me but this request, 
l^ay me beside my dear and only sister, 
And let one cypress shade our mutual tomb. 

Fat. fle's gone, and with him all my hopes 
are fled, 
My dearest friend, my lover is distracted, 
And 30 am i, my tortur'd brain whirls round. 
And nought but death can cool its burning fe- 
ver. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE \.—A Room in the Palace. 

Abd. A VICTORY, a glorious victory. 
We've shown Ihen), Zaaiorj we are brave as 
ever ; 



J.4o 

Vve\e scatter'd these prond Spaniards like the 

dust. 
When great Abdallah call? and Zaraor lead?, 
Our loes are pow'rless as the bleating Iambs. 
I've ?een the poplar strive against the whirlwind, 
V\c seen Ihe wretch defy the belts cf thuntler, 
I've seen the waves ml! on the TroN^ning chli' 
In all their majesly, Tve seen (hose waves 
Beat idly 'gainst that cliff and spent retire. 
So I have seen these haughty infiJels 
Approach my walls, and piume themselves on 

conquest ; 
But when we ro«e in arras, have seen them tVy 
With ail the hurry of the broken waves. 
Zamor. Yes, 'twas a noble victory, my 

Lord ; 
Saw'st thou not, how I led my Musfulmen 
Into the thickest danger? n)ork'd ihou not, 
How my broad banner wav'd amid the fight ? 
Oh 'twas a glorious sight ! to see our troops 
vSabre in hand march on to blood and conquest, 
To see them dash at once among the foe : 
They stood not for the archers, but fcrthwiih 
Attacli'd them sword in hand ; then wild dismay 
Tervadtd all their legions, o'er the Idlls 
They scalter'd in disorder, we pur=«cd 
And gave them to the sabre' 

christians 

'J'!ien felt the sharpness oftlie Moorish steel. 

Jihd. I saw, along the side of yonder hill, 

liow fierce the battle rng'd ; "i mark'd l! 

sabres 
Gleam, like the vivid lightning; I could hear 
The shout of victory, tl e yell of conquest, 
The dying groan, the A-ebie cry for quarter, 
Mingle alternate with tiiC clashing steel ; 
\ Itiought I saw, amid that fiercest conflict, 
Almaiizoi's lion-crest ; sav. was he there :' 



244 

Zamor. Yes, first and foremost in the ranks 

of battle 
Almanzor stood undaunted 'gainst the (oe ; 
1 saw him cleave the crest of many a knight 
And send full many a warrior to the grave. 
Along that moutitain side he drove his foes 
In a full tide of conquest, there he fought, 
Pursued his enemy and cheer'd his soldiers ; 
'• To victory, to victory," he cried, 
And wav'd' his glittering sword ; onward he 

rush'd, 
Nor stopp'd, till every christian dog was con- 

q~uer'd. 
Abd. Oh nobly done I Almanzor (hen is brave 
And worth}' of the monarchs of Granada; 
Long will he shine, the glory of his nation 
And pride of all his friends : where is Almanzor ' 
"Would I could press the hero to my heart. 
Zamor. My Lord, the hottest fight was round 

that hilt, 
Just at the opening of a narrow vale ; 
The Spaniards, as they fled, there made a 

stand, 
And strove their nation's honour to redeem : 
'lliis was a bloody conflict, helms were cleft 
By the bright sabre and the Spanish haibard ; 
Full many a breast received the deathly blow, 
J^'ull many a turban roli'd amid the dust; 
'I'he stream that rush'd along was red wilh gore, 
The blood in rivulets stream'd adown the va'e ; 
Nothin? was seen but wounds and gore and 

slaughter ; 
Nolliingwas heard but shouts an^d dying groans. 
Ev'n in the moment l)ig wilh future fate, 
While victory was dubious, with our sabres 
I and Almanzor charg'd their firmest phalanx. 
iSuch prodigies of valour I ne'er witness'd ; 
The Spaniards fought with all the desperation 
Oi' those, whg atrUg^gie ia the aras uf d«uth ; 



245 

^'■"e Moors contended in the hope of vicfory ; 
^"st at ihe nQoraent, when the falling foe, 
Torn from his last resort, had giv'n away, 
^ome ruffian coward aioiM a secret blow 
And clove Almanzor's crest ; I saw the blood 
Stream down his noble countenance, I mark'cl 
The latest word he uiter'd, it was " victory." 
He died — 

.'ibd. Almanzor dead ! oh gracious heav'n I- 
Have mercy on my bleeding', broken heart. 
Almanzor, oh my son 1 my only son ! 
My. only child 1 on whom I built ray hope?, 
On whom I hop'd to rest my weary limbs. 
And prop my falling age, gone, gone forever 1 
Oh shall I never see that eye of fire 
Beam with such strong expression ? shall I 

never 
Li5^ten enamour'd to the eloquence, 
I'he burning eloquence of dauntless courage? 
Ah Ihou art dead, and I am here forsaken, 
A poor, unfriended parent, robb'd of all 
Mv dearest treasures, wife and son and daugh- 
ter. 
All buried in a dark untimely grave. 
Zamor. My Lord, the coward, who could 
dare that blow, 
Was curs'd Alonzo's brother ; but the wretch 
Paid well for his temerity ; this sabre 
Fierc'd that vile i?paniard's black, infernal 
heart. 
Abd. Alonzo's brother I Oh this is too much ! 
What ! curst Alonzo ruin dear Alzira, 
And now Almanzor slaughtered by his brofher? 
I'll be revengM I by heav'n I'll be reveng'd 1 
Zamor, quick to his dungeon, seize the vvretcli 
And send his spirit to the shades of hell. 
Zaiuor. My Lord, tis done this moment as 
you bid. [^.isidc. 

Done I yesj I'll do it with the greatest plea- 
fur". \Ex%l. 



24G 

^^bd. Now I am quite forsaken, oh lias hand 

DestroyM my lovely daughter, and Almanzor — 

My heart I my heart ! oh Mahomet, heal iU^ 

wound?", * 

And quench the fire that rages in my bosom. 



SCENE II. — .1 retired ivoodi/ place near the 
field, of battle^ 

Almanzor, Solus, 

Such is (he slato of this distracted world, 
Ftich are the freaks, that fortune loves to play 
t'pon the great and rtobic ! Morning saw mo 
A brave and gallant prince, rcnown'd in arm?, 
/'lie heir of proud (Jranada, lov'd, carcss'd 
And by fhe fickle mob extolPd to heav'n. 
M'hat am I now ? ah wounded, weak, forsuken^ 
T.eft by the army onre led on by me | 

Kv'n to tlie very lieight of victory ; | 

iVone sought the prince, when fiom the field J 

victorioui '\ 

They march'd in triumph to Granada''s Avails; ' 
None ar^kM, wheie is Almanzor, but cojitented 
J'hey all reiirM bfnealb the haughty Znmor, 
And left me h^re unnolic'd and forgotten. 
I.^'t not enough to fire this soul of mine ? 
I'sl not enough to rou?e my jealousy ? 
What, shall (Lis low born wretch exult and 

triunph, 
While I am .'pfl {o pine \vi(h pain and an?uii>h ? 
^nd shall Cranndi y\\\z with Zamor's praise, 
"While every tongue i" f-ilent in Almanzor's r 
iJut I t',m fic.k of life, I loathe a world, 
Where evf ry thing look? dark and meiaiu holy, 
Where sighs and groans arc walUd o;i trui'i 

gaie,' 
And every brc/e i« ' !--a':;M with n;i=i'y. 



247 

.ook rotmd, Ihou hero ! on this Ijloody i>Iain, 
iud view the Geld, where thou , hast won thy 

glory ; 
iec yondtr dying wretch, how pale, how 

ghastly 
"hat coui)ter»rvnce,which courage once enlivenVI, 
low dim his eye, and what is that he utters r" 
ih ! Uis the long protracted hhriok of anguish, 
'he feeble prayer for hut one coolio;; diop, 
)r th(; last s-Uugi^Wu'^^ }»artinjj groan of death, 
'orhaps, even now, an aged, tottering mother 
s foiidly waiting for her son'b return ; 
'crhaps some maiden weaves tlie victor's gar- 
land 
Po deck her hcroVi brow, and as she binds 
]lach graceful wreath, lets fall a silent tear: 
Jut, ah, no anxious motherV"! straining eye 
'liall see her son'i* return I for death has ECal'J 
lis clay-coid lips forever! tiiouLMi liis love 
-ook for him, till the year lias roll'd around her, 
le hleeps forgotten on thia bloody [ilain, 
Icr sigtis can ne'er awake him, nor her leart 
tecall his spirit from his early tomb. 

\Enttr Amru. 

Aiiiru. And art thou still alive. jiio6t noble 
prince ! 
Phis, this \% heaven indeed I long had 1 look'd 
n fruitier? search, ucd o'er this plain had wan- 

der'd, 
Jntil despair had alnr)ost sunk n»y soul : 
>ut come, my prince ! let's hahUn to Granada 
\n<\ fcave thy father and hib falling throne. 

Aim. What dost thou tay ? 

Arnru. Ruin awaits thy 

father, 
)eati) from (he traitor, he has nurs'd uo long. 

Aim, From Zamor.^ 

Arnru. Yes, from him. 

Aim. Oh, grft- 

ci'jus bcaveo 1 



248 

T)art all thy fury od that guilty head. 
Come, let us hasten ere the blow is struck ; 
Perhaps this hand n)ay stay his naurdering arm. 

Amru. Yes, let us hasten ; but, most noble 
The army is corrupted, every gate [prince ! 
I? firmly closed to aid the wretched traitor. <j 

Jilm. But, oh I my dearest friend, what can 
I do? 
How can I save my father's life and throne ? 
And must the traitor triumph ? 

Amru. No, Almanzor ! 

Fatima will secure an easy entrance : 
At yonder lonely corner, where the wall 
Hangs o'er the narrow plain, beneath the palace, i 
She will secure an easy entrance for thee. 

Aim. Ah, is she safe, and is she still the same, 
The same enchanting angel, firm in danger, 
AEd ever prompt to aid the righteous cause ? 

Amru. Yes, 'twas by her I learnt thy father's ' 
^danger; 
Oh ! couldst thou then have seen her fortitude, 
Have seen her countenance by sorrow soften'd, 
But strengthened by a more than woman's firm- 
ness ; 
Have seen her eye, where the oft-starting tear 
Was check'd in embryo by that god-like 

wisdom, 
"Which told her, danger was no time for weeping ; 
My dearest friend, thou'dst lov'd her more than 
ever. 

Aim. Oh, treasure more than all the wealth 
of India! 
If heaven shall aid me in this enterprize, 
ni place thee on my throne, a fairer jewel, 
Than ever sparkled in a caliph's crown. 
But let us hasten, every fieeting moment 
May be the one that ends my father's Jife, 
And with it, al! roy bappines;- and hopeso 



249 

SCENE III.— .4 Dungeon. 

Aloxzo, Solus. 

The sun just sets behind the western hills, 
The shades of twilight curtain round the sky 
And spread unusual darkness thro' my dungeon z 
This is the time, the happy time ! when Zainor 
I'romis'd to come and free me from my prison. 
Why does he .wait ? say, is he not my friend, 
Or are his promises all vain and false? 
I've waited lone:, this ho4ir kas been a day; 
I fondfy hnp'd fo see the setting sun 
In freedom ; but its golden orb has vanishM, 
Ard the red srieamo of twilight stain the west. 
I seated me upon tliis stone, and look'd, 
With straining eye, unmovin?, thro' tlie gTate, 
To see (he suti descending to the horizon ; 
I chid each lazy moment as it pass'd, 
And wi^hM an eagle's wings might urge it on- 

v/ard : 
Each sound I heard arrested my attenlion ; 
I IJFtcn'd, thought I heard the gales ui.barr'd, 
Aiu\ sprr.ng to raaet (he dear approach of Zamoro 
Still, sdil (he sun ha? set, Rnd darkness shrouds 
T!ie scenery all around, (he stars are twinkling 
Feebly, amid the clear, unclouded sky : 
A melancholy siiade pervades ray prison, 
And seems the harbinger of something dreadfuL 
Heavens ! is there aught awi^its me more dis- 
tress ii-.g 
Than wha( I've suffcrM ? wljat a «hade is that, 
Which glides along the wall? speak, tell my 

fa(e ; 
Oh, horrid ! Zamor, come and freeme 1 Zamor, 
Come and fulli! thy promise to Alonzo ! 
Ah, there ho comes ! I hear the gates unbarr^dj 
K^3 comes ! he comes I Alonzo now is free ! 



250 

[Enter Zamor.] 
My dearest Zarnor, can I now be free, 
Say, can I leave this gloomy seat oi" horror? 
Zamor. Yes, dear Alonzo, follow me to free- 
dom ; 
Thou now shalt know that I am ever fiiitliful ; 
I come to set thee now at liberty, 
And break the iron bolts, that bar thy dungeon. 
Alonzo, thou art free. 

Aloni:o. Oh, gracious heaven '. 

Accept my waroiest thank?, and pour thy blet^s- 

ings 
In ceaseless show'rs en faithful Zamor'a head. 
Alonzo free 1 how sweet that accent sounds, 
Alonzo free! Oh, 1 ccuid speak forever 
The blessed word«. Zamor, receive my tbar.ks, 
I'he warmest thatiks of an o'erduwio^ heart. 
Zamor. Alonso, I have come to seal my 
friendship ; 
Ye5, 1 have come to bid my -last adieu. 
When thou art free, wilt thou remember me ? 
Say, wilt thou ever think of faithful Zamor? 
Alonzo. Oh, ever 1 ever ! I will ne'er forget 
thee, 
Vd sooner die than lose thy dear remembrance. 
Zamor. Alonzo, when thou'rt freed from this 
dark dungeon, 
And left to roam the fields at liberty, 
AVould not Alzira's love delight thy soul? 
Know then, 1 free thee from thy gloomy prison, 
To wed tliCe to Alzira; I will join you 
]n wedlock never — never to be broken. 

Alonzo. NoMf let us fly, the growing darkness 

favours. 
Zamor. But why this hurry? as the night 
advances, 
Thy flis;ht will be more safe. Approach this 

grate, 
And view the cloudless sky ; say, is't not lovely ? 



251 

Mark, ho-.v the star ofevenlng shines, how bright 
It gems the west. Alonzo, thou hast seen 
Many an evening on the liills of C'astile, 
As fair as this ; is't not a cheerful sight? 

AhnzQ, Yes, it reminds me of my youthfal 
clays 
Aiifl boyish sports, beneath the silver moon. 
Zamor. Look at it steady, take thy final look t 
Alonzo. What say'st thou, Zamor? 
Zamor. Take thy 

final look 1 
Thou aeVr shait see the vault of heaven agaia ! 
Alonzo. Zamor, art thou distracted ? 
Zamor. No, Alonzo! 

I only come to seal my faithful friendship, 
To seal it thus ; [draws his dagger] look at that 

polish'd dagger, 
See how it glitters ; can't it pierce thy heart ? 

Alon-20. Angels of mercy ! aid me in this hour ; 
Oh, blessed God of heaven ! I pray thee, help me, 
Zamor. Alonzo I thus I show my fond affec- 
tion ; 
I free thee from this dungeon, but to hide thee 
Secure witiiin the dungeon of the grave. 
Alzira's dead ; go there enjny thy love, 
(xo there and wed her -ghastly, mould'riog 

corse ! 
There thou canst love forever; art thou ready? 
Alonzo. But hear me, Zamor, hear me, I be- 
seech thee ! 
Is this thy kindness ? say, didst thou not pro- 
mise 
To free me from my prison ? 

Zamor. Yes, I did, 

And thus I free thee. [Prepares to slab him,'\ 

Alonzo. Oh, have mercy on me ! 

Spare me one moment, spare me, cruel Zamor! 
^Vhat could'st tliuu mean, to torture poor 
Alonzo 



252 

With such high expectations and then dash 

them? 
Spare me ! 

Zamor. What do^t thou 'ivant, thou dastard 
wretch ? 
Alzira lov'd thee, but she hated me ; 
She's dead, and thou ehalt die. 

Alonso. Infernal Zaraor I 

I'm weak and wretched, but I once was brave ; 
I tell thee thou'rt a fiend. 

Zamor. I know it well, 

I glory, dastard, in ray cruelty. 
Say, art thou ready ? 

AlQ7im. Yes, kill me, thoa coward I 

Come and attack a feeble, helpless prisoner 
At night, when ail is dark ; strike, if Iwill 

please thee, 
Thou mean infernal coward I 

Zamor. Hell and fury I 

Dar'st thou insult mc thus ? I'll never stain 
That dagger with thy puny woman blood: 
Here ! here I Horazan, seize the dastard 

wretch ! 
Relentless drag him to that narrow cell. 
And plunge thy assassin knife into his bosom. 
Revenge 1 revenge I thy work is almost done. 



SCEXE IV.— .rj Roont. 

Zamor and Ibrahim. 

Zamor. lBRAHiM,what from my Mussulmen ; 
all ready 
To aid me iii this dangerous enterprize ? 

Ibrah. My lord, I've tried their firm fidelity 
They all exclaim'dj " Long Hve the noble 
Zamofj 



253 

Death to Abdullah." When the fi^jht vrds 

ended, 
That made them victors o'er those christian 

robber-s, 
I ask'd the legion, who should be their king ? 
With loud acclaim they shouted, '•'noble Za- 

mor;'' 
I charg'd them to be silent, lest the armies 
Around, might hear and stop the rising treason^;. 
Still they exclaim'd, " Health to the hero Za- 

mor ! 
Death to Abdallah !" Then our conquering ar- 
mies, 
Fir'd by the sound, exclaimed through all their 

legions, 
In ceaseless shouts, " Down with the haughty- 
tyrant I 
L<ong live the hero, he, who never trembles, 
Nor fears 1 who always leads us on to glory 1" 
Zamor. Then 1 have nougrR to fear, the ar- 
mies all 
Are on my side ; I'm king, my Ibrahim I 
1 soon will show them, I can rule as well, 
And fill the throne as nobly as Abdallah. 
Ibrahim, thou faithful servant ! thoo shalt be 
Next to the throne, the leader of my armies, 
Director of my councils, and my friend ; 
My friend and last resort when danger calls. 
But yesterday, the proud, unfeeling tyrant 
Disgrric'd me, who had ever been his faithful 
And trusty servant, who had dar'd my lile 
And shed my blood to free him from destruction. 
There see these scars, these noble hero scars I 
These I received while fighting for Abdallah ; 
But stilj, the dotard, in a fit of passion, 
Could dare disgrace me ; I will ne'er forgive him, 
The tyrant dies to glut my guawing vengeance. 
I've (riumph'd o'er him twice, I drove him oa 
To murder his Akira, whom he lov'd 



254 

With ail Ihe tenderness, a parent caa : 

And in the battle, at the very moment, 

VVhen victory decided for our arms, 

I aim'd a deadly blow and siew Aimanzor; 

Foe oiix'd with foe, tlien aided my design, 

IS'oue Jaw me strike, all thought a Spaniard slew 

him ; 
I came and told the kin^, Alonzo's brother 
Had shed tht precious blood of dear Almanzor. 
Jbrah. Thou Hest like Satan ! would that I 

co'ilrl he 
But half as wicked as thou art, my Zamor ; 
Thou shara'st the very (lends, Ihou'rt so abaa- % 

donVl. ~i 

Zamor. Zamor will never start at trifles, 'a 

Ibrahim ! 1 

Some monstrous crime, that makes a murderer 
Is all I ever deign to meddle with. [tremble, 
Let the assassin boast him of his deeds 
Of death, done at the darkest hour of midnight, 
Zamor shall boast of deeper, darker crimes. 
I never merely stab, I torture first ; 
To see one die, that gives my eyes no pleasure; 
But first to raise his fondest espectations 
Of happiness, and then to blast them all ; ' 
That is the way I feast my soul with rapture. 
1 slew Aionzo in this torturing way ; 
I toid him, I would free him from his dungeon, 
I rais'd his expectations to the highest 
And most extatic pitch ; then at the moment, 
Wiien he was all on tiptoe to be free, 
! drew my glittering poniard ; Oh, how pale 
And sunk he look'd ! I just prepar'd to strike 
His throbbing bosom, when some fiend infusM 
A sudden desperation in his heart; 
Then I disdain'd to kill the whining boy, 
But gave him to the vile assassin's dagger. 

Ibrah. Thou art a murderer on a noble scaU 
Thou tortur'st, then destroy'gt ; the hellish sa* 

asre. 



255 

Who tear? his burning captive limb from limb, 
Would be, my lord, a fit companion for thee. 

Zamor. Yes, Pm a savage, Ibrahim, complete 
In all the wickedness, in all the hard, 
Unfeeling cruelty, and ail the cunniiig, 
That mark a savage of the feliest stamp : 
But I am brave, I lead my armies on 
To victory and conquest, and that makes me 
The soldier's friend, aye, and the people's friend. 
Come, let us go and frtrike the final blow, 
Go and dispatch the tyrant in his chamber. 



ACT y. 

SCENE I. — Almanzor amd Amrh. 

Amru. This is the place, and through this 
Fatima will admit us to the city ; [narrow gate 
This is the hour she prcmis'd : — soon, Almanzor, 
The time will come for all thy fortitude. 

Aim. When justice aids me, I have nought to 
At least I'll die an honourable death, [fear; 
Nor shall the traitor see his power secure, 
Until some wretch of his has felt my steel. 
But why does she delay? ah I some misfortune, 
I fear, has happen'd to my clear Fatima. 
Dost thou not hear those distant, hollow sounds ? 
I fear the work of ruin has begun, 
I fear it is too late to be successful. 
Ah, listen ! they are louder 1 heard'st thou not 
A shout like this, "success to noble Zamor ?" 
Oh, 1 am gone forever ! 

Amrn. No ! my friend. 

Be not disheartened by that distant sound ; 
Thy fancy aids thee, No ! it is not real. 

Aim. I heard the shout and am forever ruin'd ; 
But never, never will I close these eyes, 
Till on some tri^itor^s head I take reveoge. 



256 

Jlmru,. But there's a sound more welcome to 
(hj ears : 
Didst ihou not hear a woman's gentle tread ? 
Aim. Ah yes, and more ; see there ! the gates 
are opening ! 
Fatima, lovely angel ! come? to save rae ! 

[Enter Fatima, 
Dearest of womankind ! ray only love I 
My Iriend, while all the world is join'd against 

rae. 
Ah can my tongue pronounce the thanks I owe, 
(Jan I express in words what here 1 feel ? 

[Poinfing to Ins breast. 
Ah no, my angel 1 but forgive Almanzor, 
What nature's self refuses to allow hira. 

Fat. I know, my love, how strong is thy af- 
fection ; 
But this ]"• not a timfe to talk of love : 
The *word of death i? hanging o'er our heads 
By t!ir most slender hair ; delay is fatal, 
U'hi? fleeting hour, if lost, is lost forever. 
See'st thou not yonder how the watch-fires 

twinkle 
Upon the distant tow'rs? perhaps some traitor 
Has mark'd us out, and doom'd us to destruc- 
tion. 
Come, let us to the work, that saves thy father 
From the a?.<53s?in, and his throne from Zamor. 
Aim. But, dearest love, what shall Almanzor 
How can i aid my father in his peril ? [do, 

Fat. Follow thy dear Fatima, she will lead 
thee, 
Where thou canst easiest strike the happy blow. 
Aim. Where is tlie place ? 
Fat. In yonder square the guards 

Are drawn in arms before thy father's palace; 
Already have they jotn'd the accursed traitor. 
But tliou niu?t follow me before those guards ! 
Yes, though each soldier'* sabre be uniheath'd 



257 

To drain thy heart's^blood ; though each spear 

be ready 
To pierce Almanzor's bosom, thou must go 
And throw thyself upon their cleraency ; 
Must throw thyself before them, beg, infreat 
Their pity on a wretched prince like thee; 
Beg them have pity on an aged father ; 
Beg them by every pray'r and strong entreaty 
To save him from the base assassin's dagger: 
If they are steei'd to pi<y, then command them, 
In great Abdaliah's name, to ground their arinp : 
Tell tbem, thou art their prince ; that thou hast 

led them 
Even to the deadliest breach, and when des- 
truction 
"Was yawning round, hast fearlessly exclaim'd, 
'•Onward, my soldiers, for the brave will con- 
quer". 
If this will not avail, adflrcs? their pride; 
Tell them of all the victories they have won, 
Tel! (hem of all the glory that surrounds them, 
Tell them how fair and spotless is their fame ; 
And then remind them of the deed they do : 
Remind them of their treason, which forever 
Will shroud their brightest fame in infamy; 
TelJ them succeeding ages will exclaim, 
*' These men were brave, undaunted in the field 
And first and foremost in the ranks of battle, 
But they were traitors, mean and dastard trai- 
tors!" 
If the3'' are deaf to this, present thy bosom 
And bid them stab thy heart. 

"^''-i. Angelic woman I 

Alraanzor will most willingly obey Ihee. 
Fal. Then let us hasten, Lear'st thou not that 
sound ? 
That is the sigral for the work of death. 



258 

SCENE If. 

Zamor, Solus. 

This is the road that leads me to revenge '. 
Here I will strike the final, fatal b!ow, 
Here I will end my hatred, — vengeance now 
Shall drink her fill, aad be a!)peas'd. Abdallah ! 
Little thou think'st what treason lurks around 

thee, 
Little thou know'st the blow, that I ara aiming 
Against thy lite; oh! I shall be successful; 
I read it plainly in my prosperous fortune; 
1 read it in (he darkness of this hour, 
So friendly to the murderer and assassin : 
This is the hour, when sin is all awake 
And active, this the time for blood and veii- 

gennce ; 
Now I can strike the deadly blow securely, 
Now nothing stays uie from my dark revenge. 
Why should 1 fear then ? — at the darkest mid- 
night, 
When all was still around, Tve heard the lion 
Pacing with silent step the desert sands 
To seize his prey — have heard the serpent hiss 
Close by my ear, and yet, 1 have not startled ; 
Ev'n in the midnia^ht tempest, xvhen the sound 
Was one continual roar, the sky one flash, 
And every soldier's spear v.'as tipt with light- 

iiin?, 
I've stood unmov'd, nor felt one fibre quiver. 
And shall I, in this hour when all is still 
And dark, when all the army waits to aid me, 
Shall I now tremble ? hark! but conscience 

whispers, 
" Has not Abdallah been thy friend and patron, 
Did he not raise thee from the ranks and make 

Ihee 
^ prince ; a:.d caust thou now destroy his life f" 



259 

Clonsclence, thy plea is vain ; indeed he raii'cl 
From poverty to fortune, but 'twas all [me 

To heap disgrace upon ray head ; by heav'n ! 
I'd rather always be a worm and crawl 
Beneath Abdallah's foot, than thus be raisM 
To glory, but to meet this foul disgrace : 
It was no kindness, no ! but it was cruel, 
Thus to torment me ; I will be reveng'd ! 
Abdallah ! help thee if thou caa?t ; by Alia! 
I'll make this poniard pierce thy very heart. 
But do I hesitate ? No, vengeance ! vengeance I 
Inspirit me to do the bloody deed : 
Remember my disgrace ; revenge ! revenge ! 
On, on, and put the tyrant to the sword. 



SCENE III. 

Zethan and the guards drawn up, 

Zeth, Soldiers ! let every man of you be 
ready 
To aid the hero in his enterprize ; 
Prepare your sabres for an instant action, 
Should fate demand it, strike the blow with 

vigour, 
'Tis (he last blow of victory or death. 
[Enter ^lma7izor.] 
AIL Almanzor I 

Aim. Yes, Almanzor comes before you, 

And begs you to secure him from destruction. 
Yes, I entreat you, guards, by all that heav'n 
Or earth contains, to aid me 'gainst the traitor. 
AIL No aid for thee 1 already we've de- 
cided. 
Aim. Is this your kindness, soldiers I to your 
prince, 
To one, who long has been your benefactar. 
By wbocn the choicest gifts have been bestow'vJ 



260 

III rich profusion on your thankless heads f 
Can you not pity one, who pitied you? 
Can you rebel against your king and master, 
And with such deeds as this repay his kindness 
How will you feel to see me mangled, butcher'd^ 
And weltering in my gore? will no compunction 
Harass your bosoms, will the sight be plea- 
sant, 
Or will you weep to see Almanzor's corpse ? 
Zelh. Whine on, thou boy ; think'st,thou 

we've hearts like women ? 
Aim. Know I'm thy prince! Know I am] 
great Almanzor I ! 

Treat not Granada's prince with such disdain ; ■ 
1 bid you ground your arms and learn sub- 
mission. ■ 
Zelh. Thinkst thou we listen to such idlei 
words ? '{ 
Aim. Remember I have often been your lea- 
der, 
Think of the deeds of valour we have done, 
When hand in hand we fought our country's 

foes. 
And shall my valour be forgotten quite, 
Can't it at least excite your admiration? 
What is in Zamor more than in Almanzor ? 
He's brave and so am 1 ; he fears not death. 
Nor shall Almanzor ever start at dying. 
But is he not the son of fickle fortune, 
Blown by the sudden breath of prosperoas 

deeds 
To all his glory, while I am a prince, 
From a long line of brave and glorious kings, 
Nobly descended ? 

Zeth. Talk no more of that! 

What care we for the splendour of a crown ; 
It is tlie valorous soul, that makes one noble. 
Aim. Soldiers I remember well the sack of 
Murci<i ! 



261 



Where every shape of death was visible I 
Did you behold me tremble? did 3'ou mark 
The slightest perturbation in my features? 
And when the Spaniards, in their latest fury 
Of desperation, rousM their utmost strength 
And drove it full against our band of heroes, 
When every man of you shrunk back with fear, 
Did I then yield an inch ? no, tho' the bravest 
rrhen shook like cowards, I withstood the foe, 
And by my firmness gain'd that glorious day. 
Look at me and admire your valiant leader I 
Him, who was fearless, when you all werecotr- 

ards, 
And learn to be submissive to his word. 

.111. Remove him from our sight ! be^ll 
change our purpose. 

v?/m. I'll never leave this place, till I prevail. 
No, traitors, you shall never pass this limit, 
But o'er ray corpse. Oh I are you not ashara'd 
Of this vile treason ? shall your well-earu'd 

fame 
Be darken'd by such hellish deeds as this ? 
Spurn, spurn the traitor, who would shroud your 

glory 
In (reason, rise superior to his pow'r 
And show the world the brave are ever faithfuK 

.'111. Leave us I nor longer shake our fix'd 
desi!<n. 

Aim. No, I will never leave you till I die, 
You ne'er shall drive me from this point, till 

death 
Has clcs'd my eyes forever : can you think. 
Base rebels I that I tremble at your sabres ? 
I fear not death ! come on with all your ragCj 
1 stand a rock unmov'd amid your fury ; 
Here is my bosom, 'tis Almanzor's bosom, 
Let him, who ehoose?. pierce it to the heaxt. 



262 

^'Ul. This is loo much; no, we will nevei 
harm Ihee. 
Hail to the Priaco, the noble, brave Almanzor 
Death to the traitor, who would make us rebel 
And shade our fame with an eternal gloom. 



SCENE IV. 

A BD ALL AH, SoluS. 

AvAUNT ! Ihou vision, from my tortur'd brain 
And rack ray soul no more ; canst thou no< 

leave me 
One short repose, or wilt thou always sting me ? 
Ah there thou standst all crimson'd o'er with 

blood ! 
There is the wound, this cruel hand inflicted, 
Claping within thy breast ! why lookst thou so 
Pteientless on a wretched, childless father? 
Oh leave me now, let me enjoy repose. 
No, never I furies haunt this feverish brain 
And goad me on to madness ; gracious heav'n ! 
Have mercy on my agonizing heart. 
Alzira ! art thou come again to sting me r* 
Why standst thou there so ghastly and so pale, 
Why point'st thou to that dark and deathly 

wound ? 
But dearest child, could I destroy thy life, 
Thou, who wert once the best of earth-born 

daughters, 
Who lov'd me once so fondly ? have compas- 
sion, 
1 pray thee, on thy miserable parent, 
Oh soften down that stern relentless brow 
And give me but one smile ; no ! thou cansi 

never 
Pardon that cruel, hell-inspired murder. 
But hast thou in thy hafid that bloody dagger, 



263 

ly wlikh I slew thee ? ah I see the drops 

.'tickle along its blade ! oh give it me 

ind let it pierce my heart ! my dear Alzira, 

lo lovely once, ?o merciful and kind, 

irant me but this request and let rae lay 

ly aged head in thy untimely tomb. 

^h no, thou frown'st ; the angel of despair 

i'o poor Abdalluh ; why that darken'd brow 

V::d fiercely flashing eye? Say, have thy charms 

5een aller'd to a fiend's unhallow'd features? 

^Vhy look'st Ihou now so wild ? why dost thou 



beck 



on 



Kh whither would'st thou lead thy wretched 
father? 

Zamor. To he!!, thou murdering king I 
u-ho had previuusli^ appeared at ihe daor ayid 
isleued to jibdallah.] 

.^Ld. Child of my heart I 

s that thy voice, or is it but a dream ? 
Oh what a horror thrills along my brain I 
But it was more than phantasy, 'twas real ; 
[ beard a voice, oti 'twas an awful sound. \^,- 
But there she comes again, frowning an^' 

gloomy, 
Ah see, she shakes the crimson, gory dagges 
Add beckons me to follow. Ch Alzira.! 
Wliere would'st thou lead tliy parent now ? 

Zamor. To hell ! 

[Then rushes on the siage. 
Prepare to die, thou murderer of thy daui^hler, 
This instant ! well may visions haunt thy biaiu 
And goad thee on to madness ; but look up I 
Here's no ideal dagger, here's no vision, 
That glares before thy sight, but here is steel, 
Sharp, vengeful steel, that soon will drink thy 
blood. 

Abd. Oh art thou Zamor, or some vi!e as- 
sassia ? 



264 

ZamoT. Yes, I aai Zamor, once Ihj mighty 
hero, 
The •stay and prop of thy dissolving throne. 
Look at me, gray-hair'd ingiate, and remember 
How thou didst break ray sword I could'st thou 

suppose, 
That I would pardon thee that foul disgrace ' 
No, vengeance is too sweet to be forgotten. 
jlbd. Zamor, wert thou not once a faithful 
prir.ce, 
ITast thou not promised to forget that deed, 
The unhappy deed, I did through ignorance, 
As thou didst own to me ? 

Zamor. I pardon thee I 

Let heaven and hell unite in fond affection, 
Before I pardon or forget an injury. 
Little thou know'st (he spirit of a Mox'^r, 
'i'o trust in one, w'jo promises forgiveness. 
No / thou must die, that I may be revcnj'd ! 
Jlbd. Die by the hands of such a wretch as 
Ibou ? 
- Zamor. Yes, even by Zamor's band thou 
now must die. 
t.'J.W. Alzira, shield the bosom of thy father! 
Zamor. Call to the winds for aid I Alzira's 
dead, 
And murder'd by that cruel hsnd of thine. 
Abd. Oh, wretched monarch ! murderer of 
my daughter. 
AJraanzor! oh my son ! 

Zamor. Call to the winds I 

They'll hear thee sooner than thy son Almanzor ; 
Hi? corpse is weU'ring on yon field of battle, 
And knov/, my sabre clove his skull in twain. 
Jlbd. Thou slew'st Almanzor I Oh, thou child 
of hell 1 
Sa!7e me, ray guards, from such a barbarous 
monster ! 
Zamor. Call, call again I thy guards have all 
<ie?crted, • 



265 

And /lock'd around my standard. Take thy 

sceptre 
And cosily crown ! can they defend thee now, 
Ah 1 can tljey ward away this deadly hlcw ? 

[Prepares to strike, 
.^hd. This is the consunomation of my woes'. 
My wife is dead ; Alzira lost and guilty, 
And murder'd by ray hand. 

Zamor. Alzira's ianocentj 

She's innocent and spotless as an angel; 
The thing I told thee was a lie of mine, 
To drive Ihce on to be her murderer. 
^'^bd. Satan, art thou incarnate 
Zamor. If thou think'st so, 

'Tis all the same to me : so take this da^irer, 

[Stabs him. 
And ne'er forj;jet, 'tis dangerci:«; and dreadful 
To rouse the insatiate fury of a tiger. 

J2id. Ah, this is my reward for ail lisy kind- 
ness I 
I nwrs'd thee, and thou now hast been a scor- 
And stung me to the heart. [pion, 

Zamor. And thou didst rouse 

[AbdnlUthdies. 
That scorpion's fury by thy proud injustice. 

[Fniima enters. 
Ffil. Villain I hast thou destroj'd him ? 'tis 
too late, 
Oh, 'tis too late to save my dearest king. 
Zamor. Stand off, thou feeble woman, nor 
insult me ; 
Provoke me not or thou shalt feel my vengeance, 
Fof. Strike, monster I if thou pleasest, kill 
me now, 
And let mr die beside my honour'd king. 

Zamor. I kill a woman, I who oft have 
slaughter'd 
Whole troops of enemies; say, shall my daa:ger 
Be staiu'd by such unmanly blood as thine ^ 

Y " 



266^ 

Fed. Hero! great as thou art, thou How 
canst lift 
Thy dagger 'gainst the breast of helpless age, 
Caii'st slay the fettered prisoner in his dungeon^ 
And stab the sleeping monarch on his couch. 
Zainor. Insult me not, thou worm! rouse not 
my wralh, 
Or I will bid the assassin pierce Ihy heart. 
Pat. Pierce it thyself, thou art the chief as- 
sassin I 
Pierce it thyself ! thou bloody, lurking coward ! 
'Tis the last bosom, Ihou shalt ever wound. 
Zamor. Desist ! canst thou believe I'd stab a 
Knjnian,'' 
No, greater deeds than that await me now. 
Fat. Go ! go to death ! destruction yawns 
around thee. 
Exult in thy success, but ere (he sun 
Has lighted up again (he vault of heaven, 
Thy corpse shall be the prey of dogs and vul- 
tures, 
Thy name (he hiss and obloquy of ali. 

Zamor. Cease ! cease thy croakings, nor dis- 
turb me more. \^Exit. 
Fat. There he has gone to triumph and to 
die. 
Little he knows the dark and dreadful tempest, 
That threatens sudden to o'erwhelm his fortunes; 
But he must shout a moment and then fall, 
Fall to be hated and despis'd forever. 
Oft have I look'd upon that splendid hero ; 
Oft have I seen him haii'd by all the nation, 
Their brave and noble saviour ; fortune wove 
A wreath of stars to circle round his brow, 
And glory mark'd him for her brightest son : 
But pride and mad ambition, urgM him on 
To deeds of cruelty, of perfidy 
And blackest guilt; these darkened his renown 
And blasted all the honours of his name. 

[Addressing dbdallahPs corjjse. 



267 

But thou shalt live, tho' murJer'd by the hand. 
Thou nurs'd so tenderly ; yes, thou shalt live 
Secure withiti the memories of thy people, 
And thou shalt be revengM 1 for now, even now , 
Almanzor's sword is lifted 'gainst ihe wretch, 
The ungrateful wretch, who dar'd destroy thy 
life. 



SCENE V. 

OFFICERS. 

Zamor. [Rushing on with a bloody daggrr\ 

The deed is done ! 
.^11 All hail the hero Zamor. 

Zamor. The deed is done ! Soldiers, the 
proud Abdallah 
Now welters in his gore ; come and receive 
"Your freedom from my hands ; I've slain the ty- 
rant, 
This good right hand has done the noble deed ; 
Ibrahim, I tell thee it was nobly done. 

Ihrah. My Lord I Granada now should ring 
with joy. 
Abdallah, he who ground us to the dust, 
Whom every soldier, every citizen, 
Hated with all their souls, Abdallah's dead ! 
And thou shalt take his place. Long live our 
King! 
v^Z/. Long live the noble,valiant hero, Zamor! 
Zamor. My friends in arms, accept my 
warmest thanks 
For your good will thus strongly manifested ; 
Believe me, all my life and all my strength 
Has always, and will ever be devoted 
To you alone ; I've fought, I've bled, I've con« 

quer'd, 
For you, my soldiers, you, my dearest people : 



268 

Should you demand if, I resign my life 
To make you happy, and I take this sceptre, 
Not lor my own advantage, (I liad rather 
Tie but a soldier, than the greatest monarch,) 
But for the people's : Here my faithful Ibrahim, 
Be next to mc ! Alhouran, take this sword 
And lead my brave ten thousand ! valiant Omar, 
To you I give in^harge the city walls. 
Come here, my friends I let's mount to pow'r 

together I 
Let's show the world (he greatness of our souls. 
Ibrah. My Lord ! this day we break the peo- 
ple's fetters 
And o[)e the prison's dark and dreary dungeons. 
Zamor. Yep, lead them forth, let them enjoy 
their freedom. 
Ibrahim, my boy I 'twill make us popular, 

[^'Isi.de to Ibrahim. 
And serve to bind their chains more close 

around them. 
[/ilmanzor rushes on vith a drawn sword, and 

exclaims y] 
Die ! worst of miscreants, die I 
Zamor. 'J'he spirit of Aloranzor ! help me, 

Mahomet ! 
.^Im. Help thee, thou wretch I he'll help thee 

to thy grave. 
[Thci/Jighty and Almanzor disarms Zamor.] 
Zamor. Spare me I Oh, spare me, but one 

scanty moment ! 
.^hn. Spare thee I thou hard unfeeling (yrant ! 
never ! 
Thou hadst no mercy, I'll have none for (hee ; 
Die I traitor, die ! and live with fiends forever. 
[Slabs him. — Turning to the Officers. 
Were you, with Zamor, traitors 'gainst njy 
father ! 
OJlcers. VVe were, my lord, but canst (hoii 
not forgive u& .'* 



269 

^^hn. Yes, I forgive ; from Zamor take es:- 
ample, 
From that vile wretch, who dar'd attempt my 
And stab me in the very hour of victory ! [life, 
But heaven prevented him and staid his hand ; 
He wounded me, but still I live. 

Ibrah. Alraanzor I 

Say art thou not a spirit sent to punish 
Our daring treason ? oh, have mercy on us ! 
Aim. Thy conscience stings thee, traitor! 
yes, thou tremblest 
At shadows ; fear me then, who am a man. 
I tell thee, Ibrahim, I am no spirit ; 
Almanzor lives, Almanzor stands before thee, 
'J'he same, who fought so bravely in tlie field, 
The same, who led his soldiers on lo victory. 
]le|)ent and he submissive, I have power 
And will exert it 'gainst the stubborn traitor. 
The army,whicli you fondly hop'd would aid you 
In all your dark designs, is loyal still ; 
Vou have no stay, they all exclaita unceasing, 
" Long live Almanzor ! death to guiUy Za- 

mor." 
Where is your hope, even iff am a man ? 
"Where can you cling ? Oh, Ibrahim 1 it is mad- 
ness 
To stand one moment longer 'gainst my power. 
Submit, and I'll forgive your during crimes, 
Oppose me, you shall fetl my burning ven- 
geance ! 
[Enler Amru accompanied by Guards^ Sol- 

ditrSf Arc] 
Amru. Almanzor, hast thou then subdued the 
traitor, 
And conquti'd by thy valiant arm alone ? 
Oh, I could pour my very soul before thee 
In songs of highest joy and exultation. 
Shall i proclaim thee monarch of Granada, 
And bid these soldiers hail Ihce as their kijii.: " 
Hail, Ui(i:r Almarwvr-. 



270 

Soldiers. Hail, our noble king. 

Aim. Tliis is the best reward I can enjoy. 
Oh, gracious heaven ! to thee I render up 
My heart and soul, for thou hast sav'd my life 
And throne — but oh, my father • 

Amru, Oh, Alraanzor, 

Comfort thyself, thy father rests in peace, 
And sweetly sleeps beiond the reach of harm. 

.ilm. Now let us offer to the God of heaven 
Our warmest thanks, and humbly bow before 

him ; 
And let us know, ruin and death await 
The ambiliouB wretch, who dares c'erturn a 
ttale. 



TA:B2iffm 



I. 24 

HOW happy is the pure good man, whose life 
Was always good, ^vho, in the tender years 
Of childhood, and the trying time of youth, 
Was shielded by a kind parental hand. 
No stain deforms the brightness of his soul, 
Only those specks of frail humanity. 
Which almost need the microscopic eye 
To trace their being. As the river rolls 
Pure and unsuliied, o'er its sandy bed 
In gentle agitation, that its waves 
Sink not in silent stagnancy, his life 
Passes in peaceful industry its round. 
He rises with the lark, and like that bird, 
Who sings her morning melody, aloft 
Amid the blue of heav'n, he pours his voice 
To God in secret pray'r. 

'' Father in Heaven ! 
Omnipotent, eternal ; ere the world 
Rose, at thy bidding, from the formless void, 
Blest in thy own essential good, thou liv'dst, 
With space thy home, eternity thy day. 
Before the Sun of Being rose, when night 
And chaos brooded o'er the seeds of things, 
Thy spirit wander'd through the black abyss, 
And o'er the boundless waste of waters raov'd. 
The word went forth — Coofusiou's voice wag 
etiU. 



272 

At once from darkncs?, light and form and life, 
And harmony and heauty, love and joy, 
And melody and sweetness rose and fill'd 
Creation with the wonders of thy pow'r. 
How sprang the infant sun, from ocean's bed. 
And glow'd and glitter*'d o'er Us tossing waves : 
How all the effulgent company of stars, 
Blent in a choir of perfect harmony, 
l-ifted their voices in the arch of heav'n, 
And sang the birth of Being : How the moon, 
Mantled in paler lu?tre, filTd her orb 
With borrow'd beams, and through the dark- 
blue sky, 
Dispensing love, her nightly journey ran : 
How from its calm, the yet untainted air, 
Wak'd by the morning, swept the teeming 

earth 
In gentle gales and zephyrs bland, and shook 
1'he vocal forest, and the glassy plain 
Of ocean curl'd with billows. Then no storm, 
Pregnant with the munitions of thy wrath, 
Hung fEOwning on the mountains, black as 

night, 
And grimes terror, waiting for thy voice 
To unfold its lurid skirtf, and onward move 
To do thy vengeance — Then the «ky was clear, 
No fleeey vapour dimm'd its purity, 
Gay laugh'd the Sun amid its fields of blue, 
And peace and health and pleasure cheer'd the 

world. 
No stagnant marsh, nor festering swamp sent up 
Its venom'd mists and baleful fogs, the dews, 
Drawn by the sun from living plants, dropp'd 

free 
From all infection — then no pestilence 
Lifted its Hydra-head, and through the streets 
Of cities, consrience-«fruck, replete with vice, 
And misery and fillh, its fruit, stalk'd on 
Exhaling death — no battle squar'd its froatj 



273 

To feed its ravening maw with human blooU^ 

No prison spread its gates, to swallow up 

And bury in its hidden gloom the wretch, 

Who dar'd to violate thy holy law, 

And lift against society his hand ; 

Nor had the grave its all-devouring jaws 

Disclos'd the couch, where man must lay his 

head, 
And sleep with rauk corruption and the worm. 



ALL then was pure, the blue sky overhead 

Transparent open'd to the farthest ken 

Of human vi?ion, like a hollow sphere 

Of crystal, closing all creation in. 

The star of day, a radiant jewel set 

In that unblemishM azure, to the eye 

Insufferably brilliant, from the east 

Impurpled, as the dewy morning ro?e 

And wrung the tears, that night wept, from her 

hair, 
To the midway throne, whereon he sits at nooa 
And pours his most effulgent elUuence down, 
And thence descending to the western wave 
Or forest ridge, that tosses like a sea 
Its living billows, as a conqueror, march'd — 
Thy purest spark, vice-gerent of thy love. 
That orb has dipped his brightness in the stream- 
Of ocean, and his last rays, on the clouds, 
Have painted evening's tapestry, wherewith 
She curtains round her canopy with gold 
And purple, ruby and emerald and blue : 
Then night ascends her ear — her plumy steeds,-. 
Like birds nocturnal, through the drowsy air,. 
Fly silently and slow ; she waves her wand, 
And evening's many-colonr'd veil is gone ; 
The sky puts off its soft cerulean robe. 
And decks itself in sable livery, 
'VVhercon iniiuifierous gems of starry gold 
Z 



274 

Sfaioe, with their bright eyes twinkling, as a 

train, 
Encircling yon fair light, that charms the west, 
Following the set of sun, or in the east, 
Gay Phosphor, bringing on his orient beams. 
Thus one unvaried mantle hid the face 
Of earth from every eye, and blended all 
The charms of hill and valley, bush and tree, 
River and fountain, in one common shade : 
Until the queen of heaven, from the deep, 
Emerg-d, and blushing through the fiery zone 
Of the low-hanging vapour, by her li2;ht 
Enkindled, slowly onward held her way. 
Walking in regal majesty, until 
She reach'd the clear meridian, there she hung, 
An orb of purest siiver, with ihe shades 
Of sea and mountain chequer'd, as with pearls 
Ijaid glittering on a snowy satin ground ; 
Ascending there, she hung a milder sun. 
And pour'd her borrow'd brightness o'er the 

face 
Of this round eeirth, that rolls seif-pois'd thro* 

space, 
And takes its annual journey round the sun, 
Forever balancM in its orbil — Night, 
By this illumin'd, silverM o'er her brow ; 
And straightway, rising from a formless waste, 
bmil'd hill and forest, meadow, vale and stream 
And many a white tent, where the shepherd lies 
Enwrapp'd in downy slumber, many a fold, 
Where tlocks and herds concoct the feed of day, 
And many a lor.ded boiv'r with purple hung, 
And many a liarvest field, that call'd the swain 
To put bis sickle forth and reap its gold. 



THE unseeded earth was bare — its tow'iing 

rocks 
And sparkling sand?, its sacwy chalks and clays 



275 

fmbrown'd, were void of vegetation, when 
The word went forth, " let herb and tree ap- 
pear." 
As by the touch of some magician's wand, 
Fair palaces, bright domes, and gardens gay 
With all the wealth of art and nature, rise 
And occupy the cheerless desert, liife. 
In all its countless forms of plant, arose 
And in its mantle rob^d the barren earth. 
The Ceder sprang on Lebenon, the Fir 
Wav'd on the rocks of Norway, whisperings 

pines, 
Tow'ring on Alpine summits, widely spread 
Their feather'd umbrage, dancing to the gale 
And murmuring with the zephyr; o'er the 

plains 
Of sterile sand, along the southern shores 
Of tiJeless Baltic, or the long-drawn coast, 
By which the ocean torrent rushes, plains 
Beneath a tropic sun, like Zara, bare, 
The home of desolation, here by dews. 
From sea and lake and neighbouring mountain, 

clad 
With dark, perennial foliage, like the shade 
Funereal, that enwraps the sepulchre 
Of Turk and Persian in an awful gloom — 
There o'tr the dry, unwater'd ridge, that swells 
Round as the ocean wave, that erst involv'd 
The forest in its waters, and the sand, 
Now flll'd with ihells and corals, made its bed, 
The pitch -tree lifts hr-r spiry head, with cones 
In russet mantled, when the North wind blows, 
Black at a distance, as the mourning pall, 
Wlien all the world is gay with new-born life, 
And mantled in a sea-blue covering, at 
The corning on ofwinter, taking on 
Her young leaves, v»-hen deciduous foliage drops 
Aud strows the ground it shaded, in the day 
Of general mourning to the field and grove, 



276 

Smilirig in fears to see herself renew'd, 

"When Death is riding round her, — Where tiie 

streams 
And fountains send their tribute, in the vale 
"Scoop'd out among the hillocks, like a bowl, 
And o'er the boundless plain, lovvlying, drench'd 
By torrent rains, the cypress weaves its dusk, 
Dank canopy, that in iis naantle shrouds 
The stagnant flood teeming with life below. 
Ah I who would venture through those bound- 
less fens, 
O'er vehich the tree of ages frowns, bow'd down 
With mossy tresses, spangled o'er with flow'rs, 
Like gay Anacreon in his rosy wreath : 
There grenadillas ramble o'er the boughs, 
Laden with blue and crimson blossoms, hung 
With tempting fruits, like golden apples, which 
:S{o!e on the virgin's heart andconquer'd her: 
Above 'tis beauty, and below green sedge 
And spiry reeds and purpled flags conceal 
The hideous forms, that batten (here, the snake, 
Who twines his jetty folds of giant length, 
And throws around Ijis fascinating eye 
Of living glow, to draw the heedless prey 
Within his crushing coils. — Thn wand'rers foot 
Disturbs a reedy tuft; the rustling grass 
Awakes the serpent, who, with tooth of fire, 
I^urks in the thicket — hark ! the warnini; sound, 
The death-announcing rattle sings and bids 
The invader fly his danger — adders hiss, 
And lizards roar, unseen destroyers wait 
To instill their poison, with a living wail 
Of separation, cutting from the world 
These sweifring hold?, wherein is found th-3 

.home 
Of reptiles, plagues, and pestilence and death : 
But from their wat'ry stores the sun draws up 
Pews, mist.* and cl'judf, that qot-nch the thirs'ty 
sp.nds 



277 

And clothe what else had been one sparkling 

waste, 
la a wide sea of never-dying green. 

Thus pass the moments by, till night draws on ; 
At rest with all the world, calm in himself, 
Conscious of rectitude and purify^ 
He lays him down upon his homely couch ; 
Peace on her dove-win2;s hovers o'er his head 
And fans his pili'jw ;(hro' the slumbrous night 
Fair dreams or calm oblivion sooth his soul ; 
No raulter'd ^roan, no sudden shriek, nor start. 
Disturb his quiet, but his sleep is sweet. 
And trives him kind refreshment till the morn. 



24 

"WE have a body — and its clanaorous calls 
And appetites importunate demand 
The service of our nobler part the soul. 
O 1 how I lon^ to throw this garment off, 
Which burdens ine with flesh, which dims the 

light. 
That else had shone so brilliantly, and movM 
With such a lofty grandeur, thro' the 6eldg 
Of intellect and fancy — had not sense 
liithrall'd me in my childhood, ere the bud 
Had open'd to the influence of heav'n 
And hope and love and beauty, had no worm 
Crept to the core and nested and consum'd 
The heart within, while all without was fair, 
Until it slowly wither'd, and the bloom 
Of youth was chang'd to paleness, where the 

hand 
Of death had set its seal, and ruin trac'd 
Its mark indelible, I now had walk'd 
With front erect beneath the argent shield 



278 

Of r()ni!( ioiiH rrcliltulc, (Inepi^ln^ wrullli 
Ati<l t)')iii|) niid powV uikI pridr, itnd ttiim|i- 

litiy; (Inwri 
Vi» c, llio^ hlio vi\uw it) nil \\\r< ouiwtxrA < linrrnn 
DC |)iir'Mli«ritl lirxirN, nr in folil* 
Alli)riii|{ IwiiiM licmnir Mrniiiid, iukI ftuvriM 
Wifli Irrriti^ vyr<j luid <'iiir<l wilii lluttorilig 

(ongiir.'. 



V-l 
\ < )l I If I »rrn llio worlil liiilorr liirn, and (Im^ piilli 
Ol Pill lidvv Tuir lirxlnM in liy nvfry xwrrt, 
rimf ni»>v'ni cith lnoiillio, or lunllinj^ Criiitii di^ 

(il; 
rmrvrr wifidlou: In H« hlo^pnm'd mn/0| 
H iiirnlB (III' tiyn will) |ili uwtinu nv«ir now ; 
If Ir-udx (() ItinclotiH i^ai'dnin, mioivy lutdti 
< >i lilitn, linnpN (d loAPfi, ( ilnui p|ind«N, 
'i'liiil lii'diitlin nll(iriiii( Cni^rnticn, ooni r0lrn(\(ii 
Knoptilli oN^riircliiitg viitrn, luid loixdv Kftti*, 
Wlirrr tu'i tnrM (Viiiidiiioii Ixd^ldn, ninlirr 

filrriiiiiN 
Of Uiiidliii^ wnlcrt irnirnnir, nu wIio^p liiudtti 
C/O'iclinn of inikttcd f;,t'tii«*i and i««'nrili'H lilooiii 
llivitn (<) p>liiinlM'i' ; iitiiNic (lowu iirouiid, 
Tim |]iilr< noll-Witrlilill^ lilid tlin violin, 
Tlml «'nlU <|ir il.uicn, niid «'nl<t'« (lir rnvrlry 
Of jdlly lit<hrlr<, wh'i M'MiI llUc! Iiuldilni* dnwii 
Till' unvr of liMiig ; liiyillc (liirldU lii<l() 
'I'lin liMiiid.H uf InwIoHH luvo, witoru wliif^pt-iM 

pii<liN 
And tillctinv; voirtii* (liio (hr riiuflil nrn Imnrd, 
And cvri'Y d<MMl of dullyiiiK \vunl(iM/in*M 
< '<irirriv%) iiiid donr ; fair wnmrn liUti (lin ri>rm''i 
Who npnmd (liiiir urinN (o nuct (Ito warm cm 

l>ri\co 
Of milidfl, who du'fcll htjicath (he £oliluiJ grovci 



Of rnl*fi»lliK», t\n OMxt(?rn fnlitn* Icill, 

<'mII Im illtl*ivr- liI'Miniiri'fi ; how llir riii'in 
MmillfHl ill (',;iii/,y iliupriy, wliirli «li(iwii 
I'.iM.li (air lllra^l liiitli and ioitii<itMl iimifK !< 

Klnrpii 
'I'hn komI in (Irnnmn voliipliinnii j liow <li*i (n(c, 
Whfiion ti lliiiii«un(l •(i»hi'mik >'.">''"" ^''» 
WluMn llin I'yf >liiii«n in i<l>oii lifij^liliKiHFi, iImi I 
himin'rnlily dinh, imil ^yjili iifi turn 

III lll>( itilltidli I'lilillin llir' |JM/l'|-, fill 

Sli«i cumr nriil i\.\a^, lur (Mry, ni <lyn«| jn \tUin 
Ol' li(|i|i(l noldir^M, rnlU il« liiMi,',iii«l lonk, 
And fiMt'M llii'»(wiii«; nHiiid flin iirUiil Icnr, 
'liirfu Ooiii tlir ntrf tiii^ ryi- itnd ii|iiU"i filtn«liM , 
Tlif" rlirr.U (ornvM diffipllmi; <vllli llm piny 
<M lilf'd rid rtiii»>n(, now Uw <'nrn«<"M itiiium 
I >r>|inrlint;; Icnvi'V 11 jiint ini'iirnuidliiM, 
AihI Mi(iriiij( info inilUy »ii('1ii»'»», IIumi 
IIk IiIii^I. < .tlU idl «li«i'liviiiK hiMirr /orfli, 
wid lild' n lull- Idown foin if [ilitdlloM; nwidli, 
l*^!!' Ii in JK'i phtli of'ro^r* ; liiil i(«r<iid 
U »K:Ur)«'if<, AoriMW, itlininr, diNptiir, und dculli, 



'I'ln'.Hl', iti h rruddlr plurii Imftvimn ||i«' ntfiiig 

And vijriirMiih iiitidliTt, u iN< wtoii lind, 

\iid llir' wild rnviii'.:"! ni tu»nii\ty \ 

vVId-iii iiiri'-y »piirtilf'n vvilli iinw^nrir'd liittd, 

vVliiro tiiriitoi^^'i iicopn is bouiKilmii, itiiU llic 

(Irn 
or piitMon Ulndhti In n wnnliti;; rlunic, 
I!ii< will i« wottlj mid j(id(^ffiriit void orpow'f, 
iicli wiik llin pliicn I ll<'ld ; (Im hri^lilri \nitt 
iioiir' Milt liiid « utiKliI tliO wnlidnr of (hr) ((frit)' 
r. (fiidrr « liild'^'x.d, wliilr- ilii- wriiUi'r !ial( 
,f ,.i ,,ii «i,-, '. , i.|, . , . . ,./ ..,r..,. .. 



280 

A thousand wildering reveries led astray 

My better reason, nnd my unguarded sau! 

Danc'd like a fe;ithcr on ihc liirliid sea 

Of its own wild arvd freakish phantasies. 

At times the historic page wotild catch my eye, 

And rivet down my thoughts on ancient timeSj 

And ntiix them wilh (he demigods of old. 

Again 1 girt my loins focro.«s tlie waste 

Of burning Afric, and amid the wilds 

Of Abyssinia seek the modest rprin^s, 

Whence bubble out the waters of the Nile, 

'j'he infancy of greatness — how I lov'd 

To ascend the pyramids, and in their womb 

Gaze on the royal cenota[)h, to sit 

Kcnealh thy ruin'd palaces and fane?, 

Bal!)ec or princely Tadmor, though the one 

liUrk like a hermit in the lonely vales 

Of Lebanon, and the Vtraste wilderness 

Embrace the other — scouring with the w^ind 

I swept the desert on the Arab steed, 

Or wilh the panting camel /low away. 

7'here is an extacy in solitude, 

Amid the broken images of pow'r, 

The serpent, owl and jackal make their homcj 

Or in the heart of ocean, or the sands 

Of Arahy, or pn the boundless plains 

Of central Asiti, whence the savage Hun 

And Mogoi in devouring torrents rush'd. 

Arm'd with tlie rifle, tomahawk and bow, 

JIow oft I wanderM througli the solemn woods. 

And (angled morasses of Florida, 

Or where the wave of iVlis'-issippi pours 

Its yet unsullied current oVt the steep 

Of Antony, and winds among the hills 

Of velvet verdure silently and slow. 

The philosophic paga was my delight, 

To trace the workings of a hand unseen, 

Ip earth, in air, and ocean, and the world 

Of wooders, which the caaopy of night 



281 

Discloses twinkling on its ebon arch. 
'I'hcpe were my plea.surt.";, and \Ue varied forma 
or animal and plant, the bird, who cuts 
With sliding wing the liquid air, the lly, 
That lliitfcrs o^cr its parent pool a <lay, 
The polifel.M shells that pave the pnowy beil 
or ocean, with their many hues in soft 
Accordance blended, lilv<; the ancient floor 
Wrought in xMosaic, or the fprig and flowV, 
Thfit smile in vale and meadow batli'd in dew. 
These were at times my pleasures, but at times 
The childish part pievailM. Along the s>trcam, 
That (low'd in summer's mildness o'er its bed 
Of rounded pebl)les, wiili \U scanty wa7e 
Incircling many an islet,. and it« banks 
In bays and liavcns scooping, I would stray, 
And dreaming roar an empire on its shores. 
'I'here cilies rose, and palaces and tovv'rs 
Caught the first light of morning, there the fleet 
l^ent all its snowy canvass to the wind, 
And bore with awful front against thu foe ; 
There armies marshali'd their array and joinM 
In mimic 5laus;hter, there the concjutT'd lied — 
\ follow'd their retreat, until secure 
They found a refuse in their country's walls ; 
The triumplis of the conqueror were mine, 
The bounds of empire widet»'d. ii!n\ the wealth 
Torn from the helpless hands of humbled foes : 
There many a childish hour was spent, the 

world, 
That mov'd and fretted round me, had no pow'r 
'I'o draw me from my mu<-ii)gs, but the dream 
hithrall'd m^*, till it seem'd reality ; 
Anri when I woke, 1 wonder'd that a brook 
Was babbling by, and '. few rods of soil, 
Cover'd with scant herl)s, the arena, where 
Cities aod empirtsj fleets uud armicij rose. 



282 

I LAUXCIPD my bark upon a ivaveless sea— 
The morning elow'd, (he sun just risen shone 
In dazzling light alon^ the glassy plain, 
That seem'd a golden mirror, or as oCt 
A transient zephyr ruffled it, a flood 
Of molten aniber. How the purple sail, 
And blue and crimson streamer woo'd the wind. 
At times the bellying bosom of (he sheet 
lleceiv'd the rising gale, and onward bore 
The wliile and glittering prow, as through the 

wave j 

It plow'd and heav'd around the crested foam, ■ 
Ld<e *^iovv- wreath? resting on a ground of gold. 
Again the rising zephyr died away, 
The boundless air was still, (he canvass flapfi'd 
And trtiiibled on the yard, the streamers 

droop'd 
And tiutlering wav'd around the mast-head, 

sea 
And air were rnotionlesf— the crystal flood | 
Open'd its awful depths beneath — so clear, I 
The bark seem'd hanging in the midway spaca 
Between the sky above and earth below : | 

So still the element*, the briny drop, | 

That trickled from the prow to meet the vvavej 
Was heard distinctly, and the rippling jhoal i 
Of blue-finn'd mack'rel, or the whispering flight 
Of the air-loving dweller of the deep. 
Fell on my ear and woke me from my dream. 
So pass'd the bark of life o'er childhood's sea, 
liut youth came on, and blustering winds arose ; 
Dark tempests gather'd round, the howling 

blast 
Roar'd through the cordage, every sail was 

rent, 
The l(2osenV] helm gave way, and like the steed 
Maddened with luxury, that flies the rein 
And hurries on to ruin, so the bark 



283 

Ran wild before the tempcpt ; now it rose 
The billowy mouiilain, in the yawning gulph 
Now headlong plung'd ; tlie shriek was then 

unheard 
Amid the vaster tumult ; then the night 
Of storms enwrappM me, by the bursting foana, 
The sparkling fire of ocean, or (he fli^sh, 
The harbinger of thunder, or the pale 
And baleful meteor of sickly green, 
That on the bowsprit led the way to death 
Alone illurain'd. What a deafning roar 
From burslmg billows, how the breaker's voicCj 
Confiicling wilh the sea- beat crag, arose 
And beilow'd through the gloom ; the sea-dog 

there, 
[Mounted above his danger, howPd and bay'd ; 
iTIie dying whale, dash'd on the splintery rock, 
iCroan'd out his gianl soul; the cormorSnt 
Flapp'd his black wings around my liead, the 
j Loon, 

Perch'd on the top-mast, sent his baleful 

scream. 
Like the mad moanings of a tortur'd man. 
So rag'd the storm around luc, till a light, 
Dimly discover'd through the darkness, show'd, 
Where help might yet be found ; a secret hand 
Then seem'd to grasp the rudder, o'er the 

waves 
The bark right onward held its steady course ; 
The tempest seem'd to mitigate its rage. 
The thunders ceas'd, the clouds spread out their 

veil 
In thinner folds, and through a transient break 
Sent a faint gleam of sunshine ; from behind 
A gentle wind blew steady ; in the west 
The golden tky shone out, a larger curve 
Of brightness every instant open'd, till 
The sun unveiPd his face, and far away 
Tiic tempest hurried o'er the mountain wavea: 



284 

It darkijng-flew, till on its bosom rose 

The many-colour'd bow; serenity 

Then fillM the air, the white gull o'er me flew, 

And the blue halcyon came and on the wave 

Alighted, hid its head boneath its wing, 

And slept as on a f)illow; still the sea 

I^ifted its broad green back and ?cern'd to rock 

Its fury to repose ; I near'd the land, 

Blue hills first smiPd, then sandy siiores, like 

snow 
Bleach'd on the heaven-ward mountain, caught 

my eye, 
The iiiiht-house next, that with its warning fire, 
Cidls from the deep the wanderer to his home. 
Ttie sun in cloudless majesty, as king 
or nature, kindled ocean with his rays. 
And made the 4and more lovely ; on I saii'd, 
'j'he haven sf)read its arms to call me in, 
And clasp me in its bosom ; there I stcer'd, 
And casting anchor, where no storm can rage, 
Nor tempest rock me, on the peaceful breast 
Of love eternal moor'd my bark forever. 



24 
THE stream of life, that flow'd on Calvary, 
May yet have pow'r to wash away my stains, 
And leave my suffering spirit pure in heaven. 
She must be there, such innocence and, grace, 
Such cherub mildness must find there its home. 
O! had 1 never wander'd in my youth, 
Had but the living wave flow'd onward pure, 
As when it left its fountain, I might now 
Mingle my hopes and bappine,«s with hers. 
But this can never be, the ills of life 
Have thrown a separating gulf between 
Impassable, till / shall launch xny bark 



285 

ijpou the sea of dark futurity, 

And s!eer my course for heav'n, (hose kappjr 

shores, 
That bloom with love eternal; there our souls 
May mingling meet and never part again. 



THE DRAMA. 25 

WHERE i5 the light, that shed its holy beam 
And fir'd the bard by Avon's silver stream, 
When jNatnre threw her mantle o'er her child 
And woke his infant voice to woodnotes wild, 
Balh'ii, in her liindiing Mood, his ardent soul. 
And bade his henven-v.ard eye in frenzy roll; 
Tliat falcon c^e which look'd creation throui;h, 
From earth to heaven in quick conception flew, 
Ijcft all the fainter pinions fur behind, 
And read at one wide glance th' expanded 

mind, 
Knew every spring and passion of the heart, 
And rivalld Greece in all the piide of art. 

Where is that daring, strong, gigantic age, 
The glorious morning of the English stage, 
"When Genius took a bold and lofty flight, 
And burst, all dazzling, from htr Goihic night. 
O 1 where are now those souls, that seem'd oq 

fire 
And burning with a poet's wild desire, 
Who saw and keenly lov'd the grand and fair, 
And bodied forth their forms of viewless air. 
O 1 wiicre are now those thoughts and words of 

flarne, 
That shine most brightly on the roll of fame, 
Those passion-speaking sounds, which fire and 

thrill, 
And bind, as with a mBg'io chain, the will, 



286 

Those streams of native eloquence, that flow 
Like torrents rushing to the vales below, 
Pouring their white floods down the mountain's 

height, 
And sparkling in the blaze of solar light. 

Is Genius dead ? shall fancy wake no more ? 
Are all the triumphs of our drama o'er? 
Is there no infant Shakspeare, who would spring, 
And soar, with upward breast and daring wing; 
Who gnaws with restless tooth his galling ehiin, 
And toils for freedom, toils and strives in vain ; 
"Who looks on glory with untiring eyes, 
Who would be great, but cannot, dare not rise ? 
Awake, ye eons of poesy ! av;ake, 
And, with determin'd grasp, your fetters break, 
Against the painted swarms of fasliion dare, 
And from their locks her perfum'd garlands 

tear, 
Indignant sweep her cobweb strains away. 
And hush the love-sick warblers of the day ; 
Dare with a frown to front this downward age, 
And drive melodious weakness from the stage, 
And once more seating Nature on her throne, 
There bid her reign forever and alone, 
And from her fuli, exhaustless fountain roll 
The words, that kindle and exalt the soul. 

Where, thron'd on Alps, eternal winter reigns, 
And Freedom wanders thro' her rude domains, 
A race of demigods she loves to breed. 
And with the bitter bread of hunger feed; 
Till hardy as the rocks fiiat round them rise. 
And stainless as their own unclouded skies, 
Her strong-nerv'd sons, by want and labour 

nurs'd. 
Like giants, from those hard-bound mountains 

burst, 
Fierce as the tiger, when he stands at bay. 
And wild as gaunt wolves rushing on their prey ; 
Cruel as hysens, when they rend the grave, 



287 

And on the red field tear the slaughter'd bra\e : 
Thus, in their new-wak'd mi^ht they rush 

amain, 
And crush the puny driv'lers of the plain, 
Then sheathing in a myrtle wreath their swords, 
Walk with the port and majesty of lords. 
So wake, ye true and native sons of scng ! 
Tour all your unbought wealth of soul along, 
And every energy to Nature give — 
Then once more, Hamlet, Richard, Lear, shall 

live. 



2o 
TFir.RE !S a world of mind, which few can 

know. 
High raisM above the sensual crowd below, 
Where thougiitis pure and free, and fancy fires 
(ii rapture, where the mounting soul aspires, 
And sails on wings untiring, heaven i? tiiere, 
And ail is grand, and beautiful, and fair. 
How the lieart swells beneath the living tide, 
That rolls in kindling effluence, deep and wide ; 
How man drinks in the clear, untainted ray, 
A lid dwells delighted in meridian day ; 
'J'he mists that dira'd him, and the crimes (hat 

sunk, 
When blind with foUy and with pleasure drunk, 
xVre all dispersed, and o'er his august head, 
Heaven's purest light in streams of love is shed : 
As when an eagle, from the mountain's height, 
Lifts to the God of day his tow'ring flight, 
Spurns with strorig wing the fields of nether air, 
And soars where ether girds him, pure and rare, 
NVith keen eye fix'd upon the burning ball, 
He feels no more this cold and earthly thrall, 
But ever mounting with intense desire, 
Seeks with untiring tiight the fuunt of fire. 



288 

&! that nay soul had always been thus high, 

Had (bund no joy, no home beneath the sky; 

O! had perfection been my only aint), 

My spirit kindled with a purest flame, 

Its energies all active, all awake, 

A thirst^ that jheaven and heaven alone could 

flake ; 
O I had this boundless, quenchless fire been 

mine, 
My soul might still, in all its brightness, shine : 
But sense has pour'd around its inky s,t reams, 
And in its stygein current quench'd the beam?; 
It cannot rise, it will not sink, it must 
Waste with this mortal body into dust ; 
It has one wish, one only, in the grave 
To 6nd for ail its sorrows Lethe's wave,. 
And there in deep forgetfulness to lie, 
And know that body, feeling, thought must die,. 
^ hat all the glories or our heaven will fade, 
And hell bs but a forailess phaatora's shade. 



25 
HE spake, and springing from th' embattled 

ground, 
Soar'd from the wondring hostsj that gaz'd 

around ; 
Transform'd to spirit, through the yielding air 
His wavy wings aloft their burden bear; 
His shield hangs o'er his shoulder, like the 

moon, 
When pale she glitters in her highest noon ; 
jr'Iis spear is tipt v,i(h lightning, and his crest . 
Waves with majestic sw^eep, and round his< 

breast ' 

His gold-boss'd corslet flashes, like (he gem 
That glitters iu a Csesar'g diadeca ; 



2iB9 

His flight is as a meleor, when it se.iJg 
O'er the biue sicy, and far behind it trai'a 
A stream of liquid silvery — now more diraj 
His airy form in ether seems to srvim, 
Lessens and lessens to ihe admiring sight, 
Then disappears amid the solemn night : 
So fled the prodigy, and wrapp'd in awe, 
The kneeling hosts the heavenly herald saw 



23. 
MALVACE A calls her tribes around her throne^ 
Deck'd in her crimson robe and golden zone ; 
Around her flow in? locks she binds a wreath 
Of brightest blossoms, while her curls beneath, 
Orsoflest auburn, wanton in the wind, 
And her argentine veil fl.oats loose behind. 
Her nymphs attend, from meadow and from 

stream, 
From plain and hillock— gay as moming^^ 

beam. 
The tropic Naiad, Garolinea, moves 
Resplendent through Guiana's giant groves ; 
O'er the blue wave she bends, and roand her- 

binds 
Loose floating robes, that wanton in the Avinds;, 
A gaudy chaplet decks her flowing hair, 
Such as the festal maids of Chio wear, 
Bright crimson sprigs on yellow beds repose, 
And morning's radiance mingles with the rosCc 
Where Niger grandly rolls his mystic wave, 
And Afric's jetty nymphs in freedom lave, 
Majestic Acfansonia rears her form, 
Aod brave?, through countless years, the flood 

and storm ; 
The g?ilher'd tribes beneath her boughs enjojr 

A A 



290 

Kind nature's simple gifts without alloy, 
Indulu;e in slumbers, which no cares invade, 
Secure beneath this wiklerness of shade, 
Or dancing:, lead the happy moments by, 
When evening suns go down the golden sky; 
And a? the ceaseless generations roll. 
From life's first dawrn, to death's unerring goa!^ 
Amid the wreck, her head she firmly rears, 
And bears the wasting of a thousand years. 
In silken tleece more white than Zemla's snow, 
Whose spotless folds in loose disorder fiow, 
Through India's forests, soft Bombacia moves. 
And lightly wanders in the woods she loves; 
Above her tower the Gatits, their sable walls, 
Down which the rain-stream, Ihund'ring, foam- 
ing, falls. 
Shed coolness o'er her, and the plains below, 
Through which those streams in soft mieanders 

flow, 
Their flo\ver-3tarr'd thickets and their rice-clad 

vales. 
Their groves, that load with balm the passing 

gales, 
Their tapering pagods and their spiry walls, 
Their vine-clad cots, their bamboo-pillar'd 

halls, 
All lie before her, like a fairy dream, 
That glows and glitters in the evening beaffio 



25 
IN endless contrariety has fied 
My feverish being ; love and fame have fed^ 
My better thouo;ht3 and been my life — ray frame 
W'as ill adapted to my spirit's flame, 
AtiJ blasted with (he cold and heavy curse 



291 

Of fear and weakness, heaven can send no 

worse ; 
And Ihey were both perverted in the hour, 
When unfledg'd reason had but feeble power, 
And Ihey did war (otrelher, till the clay 
Gain'd mastery o'er ihe mind's immortal ray ; 
Immortal in its longinj^s, for it felt 
The beauty of perfection, and it dwelt 
On images of light and love, and drew 
Tho«e pictur'd pleasures, that are known by 

few, 
And it would fix the deep glance of its eye 
Upon the brightness of an evening sky, 
And it would fashion on the arch of blue, 
And on the rainbow-clouds of gayest hue, 
A world of happiness, and there would trace 
The ideal form of loveliness and grace, 
And then I was entranced, and I would jeem 
Ascending to my Eden on the beam, 
That fell so bright upon me, and my tlight 
Was as the twinkling of a ray of light. 
And I would dream for hours, until my soul, 
In unmixM feeling soft and pure, would roll. 



A POEM. 



1. 

TlIEY'talk of love and pleasure— but His all 
A tale of falsehood — life is made of gloom, — 
The fairest scenes are clad in ruin's pall, 
The loveliest path-way leads but to the tomb; 
Alas ! destruction is man's only doom ; 
We rise, and sigh our little lives away, 
A moment blushes beauty's vernal bloom, 
A moment brightens manhood's summer raj', 
Then all is wrapp'd in cold and comforlless 
decay. 

11. 

And yet the busy insects sweat and toil, 
And strui^gle hard to heap the shining ore — 
How trifling seems their bustle and turmoil, 
And even how trifling seems the sage's lore. 
Even he, who, buried in the classic store 
Of ancient ages, ponders o'er the page 
Of TuHy or of Plato, does no more. 
Than with his bosom's quiet warfare wage, 
And in an endless round of useless Ihou^h-t 
engage. 

ill. 

Then close thy ponderous folio and retire 
To shady covertfi, undisturb'd retreats. 



293 

\nih lay thy carelcss'hand upon thy iyre, 
\nd call the muses from their woodland seats i 
But ah 1 the Poet's pul?e how vainly beats, 
Tis but vexation to attune his strings, 
Ev'n he, who with the Chian bard coaipetes, 
[lad better close his fancy's soaring wings, 
\nd own, earth's highest bliss uo true enjoyment 
brings. 

lY. 

We find this earth a gloomy, dull abode, 
And yet we wish for pleasure — sense is keen, 
And so this life is but a toilsome road, 
That leads us to a more delightful scene ; 
Well, if thou find'st a solace there, I ween, 
K is the only joy thou e'er canst know, 
And yet it is but fancy, never seen 
By mortal eye was all that lovely «how, 
That paradise where we so fondly wish to go. 

V. 
We have a bod}' — and the wintry wind 
Will not respect the Poet— No, the storm 
Beats heavy on the case, that holds a mind 
Gf heavenly mould, as on the vulgar form ; 
When bleak winds blow, how can the soul be 

warm ? 
Can fancy brighten in the cell of care ? 
Can inspiration's breath the soul inform, 
When Ihe limbs fhiver in the g>i?ty air, 
And in the thin, pale face the fiends of hungei* 

stare f 

VI. 
Ol they may tell me of the ethereal fiame, 
That burns and burns forever — 'tis the dream 
Of tho?e high inteltecls, who well may claim 
Relation to the pure, celestial beam: 
The life eternal — 'tis a glorious theme, 



294 

Whereon bards, sages, have out-pour'd thei;? 

fire; 
But view it narrowly, and it will seem, 
But the wild ruounling of unquench'd desire. 
The long-extended wish to raise our being 

higher. 

VII. 

True — His a mig-hty stretch, when unconfm'd 
The soul expatiates in imagined being, 
And where the vulgar eye can only find 
3-)ust, by a second sight strange visions seeing. 
And still from wonder on to wonder fleeing, 
By its enkindled feelings wildly driven. 
It leaps the walls of earth, but ill agreeing 
With tiiose high-mounting thoughts to genius 

given, 
Nor rests till it has set its eagle-foot in heav'n. 

VHI. 

And (here it cull? the choicest fields of earth, 
For all the pure and beautiful and bright, 
And gives a gay and odorous Eden birth, 
And rains around a flood of golden light. 
Where sun, moon, stars, no more awake the 

sight, 
But pouring from the Eternal's viewless throne, 
It fills us with ii-.eiTable delight, 
And every slain of earth forever flown. 
We bathe and bask in this ethereal fount alone, 

IX. 

And flowVs of every hue and scent are there. 
The laughing fields are one enamell'd bed. 
And fiU'd with sweetness breathes the fanning 

And soaring birds are singing overhead, 
And bubbling brooks, by living fountains fed- 



295 

)"'er pebbled gems and pearl sands winding 

piay; 
)ne boundless beauty o'er creation shed, 
rhe storm, the cloud, the mist, have hied away, 
^nd nothing dims the blaze of this immortal 

day. 

X. 

ind Man, a pure and qjienchless beam of light, 

Ul eye, ail ear, all feehng, reason, soul, 

[e takes from S'^od to good his tireless flight, 

Viid ever aiming at perfection's goal. 

Sees at one instant-glance the moral whole ; 

^oiv'rs ever kindling, always on the wing, 

rhe disembodied spark Prometheus stole, 

L'o science, virtue, love, devotion, spring 

iis fancy, reason, heart — creation's angel king. 

XI. 

rhe who^e machine of worlds before his eye 
Jnfolded as a map, he glances through 
jystems in momenl?, sees the comet fly 
n i(s clear orbit through the fields of blue, 
\nd every instant gives h'lca. somelhing new, 
IVhereon his ever-quenciiless thirst he feeds ; 
Prom star to insect, sun to falling dtw, 
r'rom atom to the immortal mind he speeds, 
4nd in the glow of thought the boundless VO" 
lume reads. 

Xlf. ^ 

fr'jth stands before him in a full, clear blaze, 
\a intellectual sun-beam, and his eye 
Dan look upon it with unbending gaze, 
\nd its minutest lineaments desciy ; 
:so speck, nor line is passVl unnotic'd by, 
*.nd the bright form perfection's image wears, 
And Oil its forehead sceptred majesty 



2m 

The calm, but awful port of justice bears, 
Who weeps, when she condemnsj but smiles nol 
when she epares. 

XIII. 

Mercy I thou dearest attribute of beav'n, 
The attractive charm, the smile of Deity, 
To whom the keys of Paradise are given — ■ 
Thy glance is love, thy brow benignity, 
And bending o'er the world with tender eye, 
Thy bright tears fall upon our hearts like dew, 
And melting at the call of clemency, 
We raise to God again our earth fix'd view, 
And. in our bosom glows the living Sre anew. 

XIV. 

The perfect sense of beauty — how the heart, 
Even in this low estate with transport swells, 
When Nature's charms at once upon us start,— 
The ocean's roaring waste, where grandeu 

dwells 
The cloud-girt mountain, whose bald summi 

tells. 
Beneath a pure, black sky the faintest star, 
The flowery maze of woods and hills and dells, 
The bubbling brook, the cascade sounding far, 
Rob'd in a mellow ruist as Evening mounts he 



XV. 
And with her glowing pencil paints the skies 
In hues, transparent, melting, deep and clear. 
The richest picture shown to mortal eyes, 
And lovelier when a dearer self is near, 
And we can whisper in her bending ear, 
*' How fair are these and yet how fairer thou, 
Afld pleasM the artless flaUerj to hearj 



297 

Her full blue eyes in meek confusiou bow,— 
That hour, that look, that eye, are living to m& 
now. 

XVI. 

But there the cloud of earth-born passion gone. 
Taste, quick, correct, eixalted, rais'd, refin'd, 
Rears o'er the subject intellect her throne, 
The pure platonic extacy of mind ; 
By universal harmony defin'd, 
It feels (lie fitness of each tint and hue, 
Of every tone that breathes alonj the wind, 
Of every motion, form, that charm the view, 
And lives upon the grand, the beautiful and 
Eew. 

XVII. 

The feelings of the heart retain their sway, 
But are ennobled — not the instinctive tie, 
The storge, thai so often lead's astray 
And poisons all the springs of infancy, 
So that, thenceforth, to live is but to die, 
And linger with a venom at the heart, 
To feel the sinking of despondency, 
To writhe around the early planted dart, 
And burn and pant with thirst, that never can 
depart, 

XVfH. 

Sjch are the wonnds, indulgent parents give, 
Who slay the sraiiing blossom of their love, 
And if the blighted plant should fingering live^ 
The spirit cannot v/-ing its fught above, 
But in its restless agony will rove 
Still on and onward m forbidden joy, 
Till wildly, as a whirlwind's fury drove, 
Ke rushes to the foes that soon destroy, 
And then they weep and curse their loitj delu- 
ded bov, 

B B 



298 

XIX. 

His frrendship warm'd to love— all things, thsrt 
In all his tenderness of feeling share ; [f«el>. 

His love bright as devotion's holiest zeal, 
For sex, without its ill, has being there ; 
All pleasure's smile and virtue's beauty wear,- 
And kindred' souls in dear conttmunion blend, ' 
lao^e, purest love, without its sigh and care, 
And hand in hand their mounting way they 

virend, 
With hope that meets no chill, and joys that 

never eud» 

XX. 

Bevotion — 'tis an all-absorbing flame — 
The omnipotent, ali-perfect, endless Being, 
The builder of the universal frame, 
At one quick glance, past, present, future see- 
ing, \ 
By whom^ hot, cold, moist, dry, good, My'i 

agreeing. 
At last, the perfect birth of bliss comes forth. 
And evil to its native darkness fleeing. 
Virtue shines out in her unspotted worth, 
And blasts to meanest dust the proudest forms . 
of earth. '' ,| 

XXI; 

Hark — hear the holy choir around the throue, ,, 

Their lips are coals, their paeans vocal fire, . j 

They sing the Eternal Lord, who sits alone^ . i 

And still their swelling anthem rises higher, 

The warbling of the universal lyre. 

The harmony of hearts, and souls, and spheres — 

O ! how my bosom burns with long desire, 

How flow my bitter, penitential tears ; 

CTI 'tis a straia too loud aod sweet for mortal^ 



299 

XXII. 

But slop, delirious fancy! now awaking- 
From thy enchanted dream, what meets thjf 

sight ? 
The charmed spell, that bound thy senses, 

brpakinj, 
Thy Eden withers in a simoonri'*s blight, 
And all its suns have set in endless night, 
Love, sanctity and glory, all a gleam, * 

Thy airy paradise has vanish'd quite, 
And falling, fading, flickering, dies life's beam, 
Thy vision'd heaven has fled — alas', 'twas but 

a dream ! 



XXIII. 

O 1 for those early days, when patriarchs 

dv/elt 
in pastoral tent?, (hat rose beneath the palm. 
When life was pure, and every bosom felt 
Unwarp'd affection's sweetest, holiest balm, 
And like the silent scene around them, calm, 
Years stole along in one unrufled flow; 
Their hearts aye warbled with devotion's psalm, 
And as they saw their buds around them blow, 
Their keenly glistening eye reveal'd the grateful 

glow. 

XXIV. 

They sat at evening, when their gathered flocks 
Bleated and sported by the palra-orown'd well, 
Tlie sun was glittering on the pointed rocks, 
And long and wide the deep'ning shadows feil{ 
They sung their hymn, and in a choral swell 
They rais'd their simple voices to the Power, 
Who smil'd along the fair sky, they would dwejl 
Fondly and deeply on his praise, that hour 
Was to them, as to flowers that drcop and fadw, 
the- shower. 



300 

XXV. 

He warna'd them iq the sunbeams, and they 

gaz'd 
In wonder on that kindling fount of light, 
And as, hung in the glowing west, it blaz'd 
In brighter glories, with a full delight 
They pour'd their pealing anthem, and when 

night 
Lifted her silver forehead, and the moon 
Koll'd through the blue serenity, in bright 
But softer radiance, they blessM the boon 
That gave those hours the charm without the 

fire of noon. 

XXVI. 

Spring of the living world, the dawn of nature, 
When Man walk'd forlh the lord of all below, 
Erect and godlike in his giant stature, 
Before the tainted gales of vice 'gan blow, 
His conscience spotless as the new-fall'n snow, 
Pure as the crystal spouting from the spring, 
He aim'd no murderous dagger, drew no bow, 
But at the soaring of the eagle's wing, 
The gaunt wolf 's'^stealthy step, the lion's raven- 
ing spring. 

XXVII. 

With brutes alone he arm'd himself for war, 
Free to the winds his lo!>g locks dancing flew. 
And at his prowling enemy afar, 
He shot his death-shaft .''rom the nervy yew, 
In morning's nii?t his shrill-V' ic'd bugle blew, 
And with the rising sun on tall rocks strode, 
And bounding through the gemm'd and spark- 
ling dew, 
The rose of health, that in his full check glow'd, 
Told of the pure, fresh stream, that there 
enkindling flow'd. 



301 

XXVI 1 1. 

This was (he age^when mind was all on fire, 
The days of inspiration, when the soul, 
Warmed, heighlen'd, hfted, burning with desire 
For al! the great and lovely, to the goal 
Of Man's essential glory rush'd, H.en stole 
The sage his spark from heaven, the prophet 

spake 
His deep-tonM words of thunder, as when roll 
The peals iimid the clouds, words, that would 

break 
The spirit's leaden sleep, and all its (errors 

wake. 

XXIX. 

He stood CD Sinai, wrapp'd in storm-clouds, 

wild 
His loose locks stream'd around him, and his 
Flashed indigaaiion on a world deBl'd [eye 

"With sen?e and slavery, who lost the high 
Prerogative of povv'er and spirit, by 
Their longings for their flesh-pots — 01 'tis lust, 
Which robs us of our freedom, makes us lie 
Wallowing in willing wretchedness, nor burst 
That thraldom, of our woes, most foul, most 

hard, most curst. 

XXX. 

He saw (hose Samsons by a harlot shorn, 
He saw them take the distaff, and assume 
The soft and tawdry tunics, which adorn 
The leering syren ; all their flush and bloom, 
A^nd might and vigour, all that can illume 
And blazon manhood, by the magic rod 
Of pleasure, chang'd to weuknecs, squalor, 
gloom, 

B B 2 



302 

And they, who erst wilh port majeslic trod, 
Then drunk, and gorg'd, and numbM, in sleep 
lethargic ncd. 

XXXI. 

He stood and rais'd his nnighty voice in wrath, 
And sent it, like a whirlwind, o'er ihose ears, 
And thrill'd them, like a simoom on its path 
Of havoc. — See, the slumbering giant hears, 
And wak'd, and roused, and kindled by his fears, 
Starfs into new life with an instant spring; 
This is no time for soft repentant tears, 
At once away their wine-drench'd spoils they 

fling, 
Their energy is up, their souls are oa the wing. 

XXXIl. 

They did not lie, and wi?h, and long to break 
The manacles W'hichclasp'd them, they did tear 
Cables as we would silk-threads, and did take 
An upward journey, where the world shines 

fair, 
The temple of true virtue, glory, where 
Man lives and glows in sunshine, where the prize, 
More rich than laurel wreaths, for all, who dare 
To reason's perfect, fearless freedom rise. 
Sends forth bright beams, that dim and blind all 

meaner eyes. 

XXXIIT. 

Go o'er the fields of Greece and see her tow'rs 
Fallen and torn and crumbled — see her fanes 
Prostrate and weed-encircled, dimly lours 
Brute ignorance around them, slavery reigns 
And lords it o'er their sacred cities, chains 
Are rivetted upon, them, and they gall 
Their crarap'd limbs to the bohe, the lash'd 
wretch strains 



303 

To rend the giutwing iron — but his fall 
Is in himself — sleep on — ye well deserve your 
thrall. 

XXXIV. 

This is the old age of our fallen race, 

We mince in steps correct, hut feeble, creep 

By rule unwavering in a tortoise pace, 

We do not, like the new-born ancient, leap 

At oi»c« o'er mind's old barriers, but we keep 

Drilling and shaving down the wall, we play 

With stones and shells and flow'rs, and as we 

peep 
In nature's outward folds, like infants, say,- 
How bright and clear and pure our inlellfcctual 

day. 

XXXV. 

We let gorgM despots rise and plant their foot 
Upon our prostrate necks, if they but give 
Their golden counters — Tyranny takes root 
]ei a rich soil of sloth and self — we live 
Like oysters in their clos'd shells — can we strive 
For freedom, when this cobweb circle draws 
Its tangling coils around us — let us give 
Our hearts to Nature and her sacred laws, 
And we can fight unharm'd, uncheckM ia free- 
dom's cause. 

XXXVI. 

There are a few grand spirits, who can feel 
The beauty of simplicity, and pour 
Their ardent wishes forth, and sternly deal 
Their crumbling blows around them, they would 

soar, 
Where man unfetter'd rises, proudly o'er 
T;.e common herd of slaves to pow'r and rule ; 
Goj search the woxJd, you caanot find a laors 



oU4 

Weak, drivelling subject for a despot's tool, 
Than hi(n, who darea not leave the lessons oi' 
his school. 

XXXVH. 

Cast back your sickenM eye upon the dawn 
Of Greek and Roman freedonn — See their sons] 
Before the bulwark of their dear ri^'hts drawn, 
Proud in their simjile dignify, as runs 
The courser to the fair stream — on their thrones 
They sat, all kings, ail people — they were free, 
For they were strong and temperate, and in 

tones 
Deep and canoroup, nature's melody, 
They sung in one full voice the hymn of liberty. 

xxxviir. 

In Dorian mood they march'd to meet their 

foes, 
With measured step their awful front they bore, 
As when a mountain billow slowly flows; 
Rising and heaving onward to the shore, 
It rolls its mingled waters with a roar. 
That echoes through the mountains, wide they 

dash, 
Blue as the heav'ns they kiss, and tumbling o'er 
They burst upon the coast, and foaming lasb 
The iocks and splinter'd cliffs, Earth groans be- 
neath the crash. 

XXXIX. 

Then liberty and law were brightest — men 
Were not themselves — the city was their soul ; 
They did not keep their treasures in a den. 
And brood them, as a fowl her eggs — the pole 
To which their hearts were pointed, and the 

goal 
Of all their stiivings v/as the public good ; 



305 

The sage, wifh naked brow and flowins: stole, 
And snowy beard and eye majestic, stood, 
And gave to willing minds their high but simple 
food. 



XL. 

It was not cates, which pleasM then — but they 

drew, 
And fill'd their brimming goblet from the 

stream, 
And plucked the fruits that overhung it; few 
But noble were their works — the living beam 
Of sun-light etarapM their pages — We may- 
dream 
Of monsters, till the brain is mad, the pure, 
Bright images, wherowith their volumes teem, 
The taste of nature always will allure. 
And while man reads and thinks and feels and 



XLT. 

Then wisdom crown'd her head with stars, and 

smiPd 
In Socrates, and glow'd in Plato, shone 
Like Day's God in the Stagyrite, who pil'd 
A pyramid of high thouglits ; as a throne, 
It lorded o'er the world for ages; grown 
Weak in -a second childhood they did count 
And nicely measure each minutest stone. 
And crawl'd around the base, but could not 

mount 
And taste, upon the top, the pure ethereal fount. 

XLII. 

Then Eloquence was pow'r — it was the burst 
Of feeling, cloth'd in words o'erwhelming, pour'd 
From mind's long cherish'd treasury, and nur-it 
By virtue into majesty ; it ^oar'd 



306 

And thunder'd in Pericles, and was storM 
^Vith fire that flash'd and kindled, in that soul, 
Who call'd, when Philip, with barbarian horde, 
IJung over Athens, and prepar'd to roll 
Mis deluge on her tow'rs, and drown her free- 
dom's wtio'e. 

XLIII. 

Then Poetry was inspiration — lond 
And Siveet and rich in speaking tones, it rungj; 
As if a choir of muses from a cloud, 
Sun-kiridled, on the bright hori:(:on hung, 
Their voices harraoniz'd, their lyres full-strung 
Hoii'd a deep descant o'er a listening world — 
'J'here was a force, a majesty, when sung 
The bard of Troy — his living thoughts wer< 

hurrd, 
Like lightnings, whea the folds of leropest ar{ 

U2)furi'ci. 

XLIV. 

Was it the tumult of coatendiog pow'rs, 

The clash of swords and shields, the rush o 

cars, 
Or when, aloft in night's serenest hours, 
The inoon, encircled by her train of stars, 
Pour'd her soft light around, and dewy airs 
Creath'd through the camp and cool'd the war 

rior'^s brow ; 
Was jt the mellow slumber, which repairs 
The languid limbs, or keeo-edg'd words, tha 

bow 
The soul in wondering awe ; or was it. roun< 

the prow, 

XLV. 

The purple Tvavo disparting, and in foam 
Roaring beliikd the vesse.1, as she flew^ 



307 

A white- wing'd falcon, from her lessening home, 
Ploughing the sea's broad back, as loudly blew 
The winds among the cordage — Nature threw 
Her energy athwart his page, and shed 
Her blaze upon his mind, and tliere we view, 
If, chance, by taste. unwarp''d, unfetter'd. led, 
A new-made world, all life and light, around us 
spread. 

XLVI. 

The times are alter\l— man is now no more 
The being of his capabilities. 
The days of all his energy are o'er. 
And will those fallen derai-gods arise 
In all their panoply, and hear the cries 
Of klng-crush'd myriads, who wear the chain 
Of bondage, will light dawn upon their eyes. 
And wake them from their iron sleep, again 
To bare their breast in strife on freedom's holy 
plain ? 

XLVII. 

A trumpet echoes o'er their tomb? — awake ! 
The long full peal is " vengeance — sleep no 

more ;" 
The marble walls, as by an earthquake, break. 
And, lo ! an armed legion onward pour 
Bright casques and nodding plumes, and thirst- 
ing gore. 
The blood of awe-struck tyrant?, flash their 

swords ; 
Their march is a? a torrent river's roar, 
And with a wak'd slave's desperation, tow'rds 
Their homes of icy gloom, they drive Sarmatia's 
hordes. 



308 

XLVIII. 

There is a flood of light roll'd round the hill^ 
Of Jove, and fronn its cloudy brightnes? spring 
Spectres of long-departed greatness, «H1I 
Their heart-.'elt homage to that shrine they 

bring, 
"Which time has made all-sacred, where the 

king 
Of thunder sat upon his ivory throne, 
And by him stood his bird, "wi'h ready wing 
To pounce upon his foes — The days are flown, 
When darkness ruPd as God — Valour will claim 



XLIX. 

And Rome again is free, and from thy shore, 
Italia ! Gaul and Goth and Hun shall fly. 
Thy sons shall wash away their shame in gore. 
And once again the year of liberty, 
The mighty months of glory, Ihey shall see, 
Along thy radiant Zodiac, on the path 
Of ages, warn the nations, " we are free^ — 
O ! who can tell the madness and the wrath, 
The drunkenness of eoul, a new-wak'd people 
hath ? 

L. 

They stand for hearth and altar, wife and sire- 
Their lisping infants call them to the fight, ^ 
And as Ihty call, their eye-balls flashing fire, 
And shouting with a course'-'s wild delight, 
When loos'd he bounds and prances in the might 
Of young life — there is in ihe sound of home 
A magic, and the patriot, in his right ' 

tStrong-foundedj meets the prowling foes, that 

come 
To waste his land— no threats his valour can 

benumb. 



309 

LI. 

The torch that lights him in his high career, 
Was kindled at the p»jrest, holiest flame; 
He (i^hts for all his bosom holds riiost dear, 
And O I no voice so conquering as the claim 
Of filial lendercess and love, no name 
So melting as ^ire, wife and children — all 
Are in those sweet words blended — what is 

fame, 
Though pealing with her trumpet, to the call 
Of kindred, bound and toiling in a tyrant's 

thrall i" . 

LII. 

He sees the noble and the learned stoop, 

And kiss the feet, that crush them, and the 

crowd, 
In hopeless, cureless, willing bondage, droop ; 
And yet he does not shrink beneath that cloudy 
But muttering execrations deep, not loud, 
He whets his sword upon his heap'd-up wrong, 
And starting, like a spectre from his shroud, 
Stuog by the lash of slavery's knotted thong, 
In all the might of wrath, he hurls his strength 

along. 

LIII. 
"Even as a tigress, when her secret lair 
The hunter iiath invaded — how she draws 
Her limbs to all their tenseness, poini" her hair, 
Gnashes her grinding teeth, and bareo her claws, 
And breathes a stifl-jd growl, and in a pause 
Of burning fury hangs upon the spring, 
And nerv'd and heated in a parent's cause. 
Bounds roaring on the robber, like the wing 
Of pouncing hawk, or stone burl'd whizzing 
from, the sling. 



510 

LIV. 

They meet at Tivoli — and night has Spread 
Her curtain o'er those legions, who would 

quench 
The name, that Brutus, Tully, Cato fed, 
And from its lofty column nxadly wrench 
The new-rais'd statue— Freemen will not blench, 
When they have broke their fetters, but will arm 
'J'heir nervy hands with vengeance, and will 

clench 
And grapple with their masters, for the charm 
Of liberty's sweet voice the coldest heart will 

warm. 

LV. 

They meet and they are victors — but the soul, 
Like his own mountain's lava glowing, dies. 
And falls with hand firm-grasp'd upon the goal 
Of all his longings — as he mounts the skies, 
He drops his mantle on the youth, who rise 
To give their lives, like hira, to liberty ; 
Devoted to the noblest sacrifice, 
Like stars of purest brightness, they shall he 
The rallying point, where all the bruis'd and 
crushed shall flee. 

LVT. 

A dream — a cruel dream — fair rose the sun 
Of freedom on that sky without a cloud, 
Sweet was the dawn, when liberty was won 
By hands unweapon'd, and they hasted proud 
Of bloodless conquest, in their paeans loud 
To those, who Samson-like had rent their chain ; 
Then heavenward shone the forehead^, which 

had bow'd 
To foreign rule for ages, and again 
The people's majesty tovv'rd over bill and plaiti. 



311 

LVII. 

And wedidiiope, Ihe Roman had awak'dj 
And ancient valour had reviv'd anew. 
And that the Eagle's thirst of ]i°;ht unslak*d, 
As when above the capitol she flew, 
Still sought her eyry in the boundless blue ; 
And we did hope, a spirit had gone forth, 
Which tyrants and their parasites would rue, 
And like a torrent rolling to the north, 
Would with it blend all hearts, that kept man's 
ftative worth. 

LVIII. 
It seem'd the renovation of the world, 
The kuell of despots, and the day, when thrones 
Were tottering, and crowns falling, when Kings-, 

hurPd, 
From their base height of lust, should leave 

their bones 
To modder in their feudal filth; the stones, 
Which bound the arch of empire, lost their 

hold, 
And in the sudden crush were heard the groans 
Of gorg'd and pamper'd spoilers, v/ho had roU'd 
JLike havoc on the dumb, weak tremblers af 

their fold. 

LIX. 

And we did see a nation on their waj 
To stop the invading torrent, ere it came 
And delugM their fair fields— — [t was a day 
Of breathless expectation, when the flame 
Of freedom burn'd the highest, for the game 
Of Man's emancipation was at stake." 
The heart, that would not throb then, had no 

claim 
Aod place in Honour's column — 'twould not 

wake, 
Even if a bolt from heav'n should by its pillaw 

breaks 



312 

LX. 

They hung upon the mountains, like a storm 
Crowning: the Appenine with deep, dun shade, 
And o'er ibeitt tower'd the bold and ardent form, 
"Who seem'd in panoply of fire array 'd, 
And from their pikes and bayonets there play'd 
A stream of lightnings on the advancing host. 
Which trainM and nurtured in the murdering 

trade, 
Like tempest-billows rolling to the coast, 
March'd slow and still and sure to storm that 

rocky post. 

LXI. 

In all the discipline of war they came, 

Their strong squar'd columns mov'd witt hca%y 

tread, 
Their step, their hearing, even their breath the 

same, 
And not a murmur whispet'd through the dead 
And boding silence ; by a master led. 
Even as a rock, that fronts the infuriate wave, 
They saw them hanging on their mountain^'s 

iiead, 
With cold, proud sneer they mark'd the untu- 

tor'd brave, 
And knew, here lay, wide-yawn'd Italian free- 
dom's grave. 

LXII. 

Secure and calm, they pitch'd their camp, and 

pil'd 
Their arms, and furlM their banners; all was 

still, 
When like the bursting of a bail-cloud, wild 
Those ?un-fir'd legions hurried down the hill, 
And dash'd against their robbers, with a wiiJ 
To do all deeds of daring, arid a mi^ht 



.»ervM into madness by tho'e wrongs, that fill 
The heart to overflowin? ; from that height, 
In oue wild rush, they pour'd Uieir souls into the 
fight. 

LXllI. 

Awhile the Austrian waver'd, for the blows 
Feil with a giant's vigrour, but the clear, 
Quick-sighted leader bade their stretch'd wings 

close, 
And circle in the headlong swarms ; then fear 
Usurp'd the seat of courage, far and near 
The plain was cover'd with the flying bands; 
In vain the patriot's elfort, word and tear. 
His life's blood only drench'd his country's 

•and?, 
Or stain'd with fruitless drops the brute invad- 
er'; hands. 

LXIV. 

The invading wave rolls on — no arm is r^is'd 
To stem its ceaseless progress, in its flood 
It swallows all the hopes, on which men gaz'd 
With such deep yearnings, a^ when linnets 

brood 
Their callow nestlings — they are now the food 
Of scepter'd ribaldry and regal sneer? : 
Well, let them laugh and revel in light mood — 
A voice of wrath, erelong, will thrill their ears. 
And give them doubly full their cup of blood and 

tears. 

LXV. 

Fosterers of nations I who?e parental hand 

Scourges the unwilling subject to obey, 

To you, ye sclf-misnomer'd holy hand^\ 

Tiie goaded slaves their stripes and vvound? shall 

CC 



314 

Though now their heads ia child-like fear thejj 

lay, 
Thejr keenlj feel the smart of all their wrone, 
They now msy stoop and crawl, there is a day. 
V/I.eo they will rise aod to their vengeaDce 

throD/, 
Even now ye trembling dread- vfbat will not 

linger ion?. 



LXVI. 

Aceldema of nations '. thoa hast b'ed 
From countless gashes — thou oiust still bleCil on ; 
Thy children's srore that harvest-field has fed, 
Where thou thy chains and maoacies Last won ; 
Thy struggle for true liberty is done, 
France, rtaly,have rous'd and burst their thrall, 
And started in that glorious race to run — 
Where have their hiiih words ended r See their 

fall— 
The despots crash them now, and saVj " So 

perish all, 

LXVII. 

Who will not sleep contented, xvbile we rule, 
And fleece and flay them ;" you may writhe 

and turn, 
And curse them, as you crouch, their earth- 

presi'd stool, 
Yes, you may start a moment, spring snd 

spurn 
The foot that treads you, ye may glow and bura 
With wrath to be so'scolT'd at, 'but a weight 
Like mountains bows you down, dust is your 

uro> 
The spirit is besotted — this your fate, 
To rise and stumble, kneel and kiss the hand 

ycu bate. 



315 

Lxviir. 

One storm has come and gone — the film is torn 
From off your eyes — you look, and Power is 

there, 
Around his throne unnumher'd shields are borne 
Serried in close array ; you cannot tear 
Tlie monster from his pinnacle ; his lair 
Is fill'd with bones of freemen, he has slain ; 
As a crooch'd lion, when his fangs are bare, 
He casts around his keen eye ; Hope in vain 
Lifts up her gaze, his glance bends it to earth 

again. 

LXIX. 

Freedom can have no dwelling on that shore, 
She must away and cross the Atlantic doot' : 
V/hy play the rude game over? you mny poor 
In waves, like torrent rivers, your best blood, 
But it will end in " we have dar'd and stood 
In battle for our rights, we sink again 
Before an overwhelming weight, the food 
Of tyrants and their parasites, who drain 
Our tears like wine, and bind with doubled link's 
our chain.'' 



LXX. 

Severe and simple, walked the Cyprian sage 
In Athens' picturM porch ; he showM and 
Unbending virtue in a downward age, [taught 
And reckon'd ail the joys of sense as nought. 
And mastered down the tide of swelling thought, 
And bound on passion an unyielding rein ; 
With slow, sure step, the highest good he sought, 
And shunning, as a viper's tooth, the stain 
ceakne 
fane. 



316 
Lxxr. 

Which stood aloft jn Doric plainness, bri^W 
The sun-beams plajM upon its marble pride, 
And from it flash'd a stream of purest light 
Down its ascending path — as rolls the tide 
Of snow-fed torrents, in a deep, a wide, 
Resistless rush of waters, till the plain 
Is satiate with its richness, then they glide 
In summer's scanty wave, so pure, no stain 
Darkens its liquid light, when rolling to the 
main. 

LXXII. 

So on the mind enwrapp'd in error's cloak, 
Whom bigotry and sense have led astray ; 
If chance the fetters of his thought are broke, 
And all the night,that dimm'd him, swept away, 
And on him v/isdom pours her fullest ray, 
A flood seems roli'd through his exulting soul. 
And all its fullness hardly can allay 
His new'Wak'd thirst for knowledge; to the 

goal 
Of truth he springs and spurns indignant all 

control. 

LXXIII. 

Awhile he grasps at Science, with the strong, 
Fierce spirit of ambition, when his car 
O'er fortune's field of blood is borne along, 
Drawn by the wildly rushing steeds of war. 
And hurrying on in quest of Fame's bright star, 
That shines through smoke and dust and wounds 

and gore ; 
Justice and mercy cannot raise a bar 
Across (he torrent of his wrath, its roar 
Drives virtue, love aod peace ailrigh ltd from its 

ghors. 



317 

LXXIV. 

So on he rushes, in the high pursuit 
Of knowledge, (ill his stor'd and wearied mind' 
BoAvs 'neath the weight of its collected fruit, 
And casting all its useless load behind, 
Ko more to man's essential being blind, 
His thought dwells only on the good supreme j 
Then calm in dignity, in taste refin'd, 
A spirit pure and lucid, as the beam 
Utiierea], virtue's charms are his continual 
Iheme. 

LXXV. 

And what is virtue ? — but the just employ 
Of all our faculties, so that we live 
Longest and soundest and serenest — Joy 
Its handmaid, all the sweets, that health can 

give, 
The light heart and the strong frame, which caa 

strive. 
Delighted in the war, we must endure, 
Thoughts clear, bold, tireless, feelings all alive, 
No passion can subdue, no sense allure, 
Even as our Sire in heav'n, just, merciful and 

pure. 

Lxxvr. 

The animal is crush'd, the God bears sway, 
The immortal essence, the enkindhng fire ; 
What pow'rs, what energy, it can display, 
When, freed from life's gross wants, it dare as^ 

pi re. 
And give a free rein to its high desire, 
And longing for a mind that cannot sleep, 
Even as Apollo with his golden lyre, 
And cano{)ied in sunbeams, he would sweep 
His chords and pour a hymn, harmonious, full 

and deep. 



318 

LXXVII. 

A hymn to Nature and the unseen hand. 
That guides its living wheels, the moving souS 
Of this material universe, who spanned, 
Within his grasp, its circle, where suns roll, 
Each in its fix'd orb, and around the whole 
Has drawn in viewless light its flaming walls; 
This is the limit of our thought, the goal, 
Where mind's imaginative pinion falls. 
When rapt in solemn thougbt, no link of earth 
inlhrals. 

LXXVIII. 

5 walk abroad at midnight and my eye, 
Purg'd from its sen'sual blindness, upward turns^ 
And wanders D*er the dark and spangled sky, 
Where every star, a fount of being, burns. 
And pours out life, as Naiads, from their urns, 
Drop their refreshing dew on herbs and flovvVs — 
1 gaze, until my fancy^s eye discerns, 
As in an azure hall, the assembled pow'rs 
Of nature spend in deep consult those solemn 
hours. 

LXXIX. 

Tvletbinks I hear their language — but it sounds 
Too high for my conception, as the roar 
Of thunder in the mountains, when it hounds 
From peak to peak, or on the echoing shore 
The tempest-driven billows bursting pour, 
And raise their awful voice?, or the groan 
Rumbling in Etna's entrails, ere its store 
Of lava spouts its red je's, or the moan 
Of winds, that war within their cavcrn'd walls 
of stone. 



319 

LXXX. 

And there is melodj among; those spheres, 

A mueic sweeter than the vernal train, 

Or fay-notes, which the nymph-struck shepherd 

hears, 
Where moon-light dances on (he liquid plain, 
That curls before the west wind, and the main 
Seems waving like a ruffled sheet of fire — 
' Tis nature's Nature's Alleluia, and agaia 
The stars exult, as when the Eternal Sire 
Said, "be there -light," and light shone forth- 

at his desire. 

Lxxxr. 

How my heart trembles on so vast a theme— 
'J'he boundless source of energy and pow'r, 
The living essence of the good supreme, 
The all-seeing eye, that watches every hour,' 
That marks the opening of each bud and flow'r, 
That paints the colours of the ephemeron's wing, 
That counts the myriad drops, which form the 

show'r. 
As wondrous in the awakening call of spring. 
As worlds, that lie beyond the stretch of Fan- 
cy's wing. 

LXXXII. 

JViih brute unconscious gaze^ man marks the 

earth 
Take on its livery of early flow'rs ; 
He sees no beauty in this annual birth, 
No ceaseless working of creative pow'rs ; 
His soul lethargic wakes not in those hours, 
When air is living, and the waters teem 
With new-born being, and the mantling bow'rs 
Are full of love and melody, and seem 
The, happy Eden of a pact's raptur'd dream. 



S20 

LXXXIII. 

The sky is Ihen serenest, and its arcli 
Of brighter sapphire, and the sportive train 
Of life-awakening zephyrs, on their niarch, 
Shed reoovating influence o'er the p'ain, 
The blue waves sparkle on the laughing main, 
Which renders back to heav'n its placid smile, 
The chequer'd sky, now clear, now dropping 

rain 
On flow'rs, that spread their leaves to catch it, 

while 
The full-swoln river rolls a fertilizing Nile. 

LXXXIV. 

How lovely is the landscape — Morning peeps 
Behind yoa leafy mountain, and her eye 
Looks o'er a fresh, green world, that calmly 

sleeps 
In the sweet cradle of its infancy, 
And clustering round the rocky summits, fly 
IJght mists, now painted in the rich array 
Of heaven's majestic spectrum, which on high 
Spans the dark tempest, as it steals away, 
/*ad westward glows in pomp the golden eye of 

day. 

LXXXV. 

Beneatii the cliff that frowns in blackness, lies 

The mirror of dark waters, on it rest 

Soft wreaths of snowy vapour, such as rise 

Spotless in winter on the mountain's breast, 

Soft as the downy couch by beauty prest, 

And mantled in as gay a canopy 

Of overhanging clouds in crimson drest, 

All glow, transparency and purity, 

Fit curtain to the throae where dvv'ellsEterni'v', 



321 

LXXXVI. 

And now the sun springs upward from his bed, 

Insufferably brilliant, and his blaze 

Tinges with flowing gold the icy head 

Of peaks, which rise above the clouds, and gaze 

In lonely grandeur on an endless maze 

Of budding landscape, hills, woods, meadows^ 

lakes, 
Rivers and winding rivulets, A\^iere plays 
The wave in lines of silver — Day now breaks 
la dazzling floods of light, and living nature 

wakes 

LXXXVIT. 

tier woodland choristers, and air is breathing 
In tones of love-tun'd harmony, the deep, 
llearl-kindling, soul-inspiring anthem wreath" 

irig, 
The burst of native joy, that will not sleep, 
But at the summons of the dawn will leap, 
And all its ful!-svvoIn tides of feeling pour. 
And as the light winds from the bright lake 

sweep 
The maniliog vapours, it will freely soar. 
And M'ith its strong voice drown the waterfall's 

wide roar. 

LXXXVI II. 

Let Man come forth, and in the general throng 

Of tuuefiii hearts, liis high devotion raise, 

And joining in the universal song 

Or" lliankfui rapture, centne all the rays 

Of that iK'aven-lighted intellect, whose blaze, 

Bright emanation from the ethereal beam, 

Forever kindling through eternal days, 

A disembodied spark, along life's stream, 

Shall always hasten on to excellence suprcfiae^ 



LXXXIX. 

There is its only resting place — while here 
We piiie ID heart-sick longing — Is the fire, 
That burns, within our bosoms, for a spJitre 
Of brighter, purer being, something higlier, 
Than ail Man ever reach'd to, the desire 
Uf sinless purity and tireless thought, 
But the vibration of a living wire, 
The motion of frail flesh more nicely wrought, 
That trembles here awhile and then consumes 
to aanght ! 

xc. 

Our thoughts are boundless though cur frames 

are frail. 
Our souls immortal though our limbs decay, 
Though darkened in this poor life by a veil 
Of sufieriug, dying maltci', we shall play 
In truth's eternal sunbeams ; on the way 
To heaven's high capitol our car shall roll, 
The temple of the Power whom all obey, 
That is the mark we tend to, for the soul 
Can take no lower flight, and seek no meaner 

goul. 

XCI: 
I feel it — though the flesh is weak, I feel, 
The spirit has its energies nntam'd 
By all its fatal wanderings ; time may heal 
The wounds, which it iias suffer'd ; folly claimed 
Too large a portion of its youth, ashamM 
Of those low pleasures, it would leap and fly 
And soar on wings of lightning, like the fam'd 
Elijah, when the chariot rushing by 
Bore him with steeds of fire triumphant to the 
sky. 

XCII. 

"We are as barks afloat upon the sea 
Helmless and oarless, when the light has fled, 



32S 

The spirit, wiiose s(rong influence can Tree 
The drowsy soul, that slumbers in the dead. 
Cold night of moral darkness ; from the bed 
Of sloth he rouses, at her sacred call, 
And kindling in the blaze around him shed, 
Rends with strong effort sink's debasing thral), 
And gives to Ood, his strength, his heart, his 
mind, his all. 

XCIII. 

Our home is not on earth ; although we sleep 
And sink in seeming death awhile, yet then 
The awakening voice speaks loudly, and we 
To life and energy and light again, [leap 

We cannot slumber always in the den 
Of sense and selfishness, the day will break, 
Ere we r-)rever leave (he haunts of men, 
Kven at the parting hour the soul will wake, 
yr,r. like a senseless brute, its unknown journey 
take. 

XCIV. 

ITow awful is thai hour, when conscience sfings 
The hoary wretcli, who on his death-bed hear*, 
Deep in his soul, the thundering voice that 

rings, 
In one dark, damning moment, crimes of years, 
And screaming like a vulture, in hise ars 
Tells one by one his tho'ts and deeds of shame; 
How wild the fury of his soul careers ! 
Tils swart eye flashes with in(en«e<t flame. 
And like the torture's rack the vvrestiing of his 

frame. 

xcv. 

Our souls Iiiwe wings — their flight is like the rush 
Olwhirlwinds, and they upv.ard point their way, 
• iike him, who bears (he thunder, when (he flush 
^This keen eye feeds on (he dazzling ray : 
'•: vlaps his [linjons in the blaze of day, 



324 

And gaining on the loftiest arch his thronej 
Darts his quick vision on his fated prey, 
And gathering all his vigour, he is gone 
And in an instant grasps his victim as his own. 

XCVI. 

We soar as proudly and as quickly fall, 
This moment in the empyrean, then we sink, 
And wrapping in the joys of sense our all, 
U]be ptream, that flows from heav'n, we cannot 

drink, 
But W3 will lie along the flow'ry brink 
or pleasure's tempting current, till the wave 
!s bi>.ter and its banks bare, then we think 
Of what we might have been, and idly brave 
\ye take a short weak flight and drop into the 

grave. 

XCVII. 

My heart has felt new vigour, and the glow 
Of high hopes and bright faocy, and the spring 
Of that \iwchanging being, whither flow 
The breathings of our spirit, when its wing 
Is spread to take its last flight,where we cling 
In all the storms of life, as to an oar ; 
There like the shining serpent, we shall fling 
Away our earthly shackles, there no more 
The wind shall lift the waves and send them to 
the shore 

XCVIII. 

To make wild music on the surging beach, 

And fling the foam aloft in snowy curls. 

And pouring headlong through the sea-wall's 

breach. 
Suck, in the raging vortex' giddy whir's. 
The sea-bird lighting on the wave, that hurls 
To swift destruction, but there is a rock. 
Built stro:iC; deep-plaiile-.l— mercy there unfurl? 



325 

Her white flag, and the bark, that stands the 

shock, 
The tempest-tossiDg tide, the breaker's burst 

shall mock. 



XCIX. 

Much study is a weariness — so eald 

The sage of sage?, and the aching eye. 

The pallid cheek, the trembling frame, the 

head 
Throbbing with thought and torn with agony. 
Attest his truth, and yet w-e will obey 
The intellectual J^umen, and will gaze 
In wondering awe upon it, and will pay 
Worship to its omnipotence ; the blaze 
Of mind is as a fount of fire, that upward plays 

c. 

Aloft on snow-clad mountains, on whose breast 
Unspotted purity has ever lain. 
The clouds of sense and passion cannot rest 
Upon its shadowy summit, nor can stain 
The white veil, which enwraps it, nor in vain 
Roll the wide floods of liquid heat, they melt 
The gather'd stores of ages, to the plain 
They pour them down in streams enkindling, 

felt 
By every human heart, in myriad channels 

dealt. 

CI. 

This is the electric spark scot down from hea\ 'o, 
That woke to second life the man of clay ; 
The torch was lit in ether, light was £:iven, 
Which not all passion's storms can sweep away, 
There is no closing to this once-ris^n day. 
Tempests may darken, but the sun will glow^ 
(Serene, unclouded, dazzling:, and its ray 



326 

Through some small crevices will always flow, 
Nor leave in utter night the world, that gropes 
below. 

CII. 

And now and then some spirit, from the throng, 
Wiih wings da?dalean, in liis rage will soar, 
And spreading wide his pinions, with a strong 
And desperate effort, from this servile shore 
Mounting like Minder's swans, whose voices 

pour 
IVTeiodious nnusic, like the dying fall 
Of zephyrs in a pine grove, or the roar 
Heard through the lonely forest, when the pall 
Of night o'erhangs us. boroe from some far wa- 
ter-fall. 

cm. 

With wing as tireless and with voice as sweet, 
Ills eye the P^alcon's, and bis heart the dove's, 
He lilts his heavenward darin?. till the heat 
Of that same orb he aim'd to, which he loves 
To mark with keen eye, (ill tlie cloud removes, 
That gave its glow a softjiess, wiih its blight 
Withers his sinewy strength ; so heav'n reproves 
The minds, that scan it with audacious sight, 
And seek with restless gaze too pure, unmingled 
light. 

CIV. 

Gay was the Paradise of love he drew, 
And pictur'd in his fancy; he did dwell 
Upon it till it had a life ; he thiew 
A tint of heav'n athwart it — who can tell 
The yearnings of his heart, the charm, the spell, 
That bound him to that vi.^ion ? Cold truth came 
And pluck'd aside the veil — he saw a hell, 
And o'er it curl'd blue flakes of lurid flame — 
He laid him down and clasp'd his damp chill 
bro'.v in shame. 



327 
cv. 

ans% ^ 

The thunder from their monarch, and would pife 
Their mountain stair-way to Oljmpus, where 
The bolt, they grasp'd at, pierc'd them, with a 

«mile 
Of fearless power the thunderer sat the while 
And mock'd their fruitless toiling;, then he hurl'd 
Ills wiiiteuing arrows, and at once their guile 
And force were blasted, and their fall unfurl'd 
An awful warning flag to a prosumptuous world. 

GVI. 

They stand, a beacon, chain'd upon the rock ; 
Heaven o'er thtm lifts unveilM her boundless 

blue, 
Ambition's sun still scorches, and (he mock 
Of all their high desires is full in view, 
Affection cools their foreheads with no dew 
Of melting hearts, no rain of pitying eyes, 
The vulture, conscience, gnaws them, ever new 
Their heart's torn fibres into life will rise, 
The gorging fury clings, repell'd she never flies* 

cvn. 

These are the men, who dar'd to rend the veil, 
Religion hung around us, they would tear 
The film from off our eyes, and break the pale, 
That bound the awe-struck spirit, nor would 

spare 
The worship paid oy ages ; in the glare 
Of their red torches, Piety grew blind, 
And saw no more her comforter, her fair 
And fond hopes lost their beauty ; can the mind. 
When rifled of its faith, so dear a solace find ? 

CVIII. 

They pull down Jove from his Idaean throne, 
They quench the Jew's Schechioah, and tjis 



328 

That bore the mangled corse of Heaven's own 

Son, 
They trample in the dust and spurn as dross ; 
And will they recompense the world its loss? 
Have Ihey a fairer light to cheer our gloom? 
Oh no ! — the grave yawns on us as a fosse. 
Where we must sleep forever ; this our doom- 
Body and mind shall rot and moulder in the 

tomb. 

CIX. 

There is a mourner, and her heart Is broken — 

She is a widow, she is ol(j and poor, 

Her only hope is in that sacred token 

Of peaceful happiness, when life is o'er; 

She asks nor wealth nor pleasure, begs no more 

Than Heaven''s delightful volume, and the sight 

Of her Redeemer. Sceptics ! would you pour 

Your blasting vials on her head and blight 
Sharon's sweet rose, that blooms and charms her 
being's night ? 

ex. 

She lives in her affections, for the grave 
Has clos'd upon her husband, children, all 
Her hopes are with the arm, she trusts will save 
Her treasur'd jewels, tho' her views nre small. 
Though she has never mounted high to fall 
And writhe in her debasement, yet the spring 
Of her meek, tender feelings cannot pall 
Her unperverted palate, but will bring 
A joy without regret, a bliss that has no sting. 

CXI. 

Even as a fountain, whose unsullied wave 
Wells in the pathless valley, flowing o'er 
VVith silent waters, kissing, as they lave, 
The pebbles with light rippling, and (he shore 
Of matted grass and flowers — so softly pour 
Die breathings, of ber bosom, when she prajg 



329 

LoW'bow'd before her Maker, then no more 
She muses on the griefs of former days, 
Her full heart melts and flows in Heaven's dis- 
solviog rays. 

CXII. 

And Faith can see a new world, and the eyes 
Of saints look pity on her; Death will come — 
A few short moments over, and the prize 
Of peace eternal waits her, and the tomb 
Becomes her fondest pillow, all its gloom 
Is scattered ; vthat a meeting- there will be 
To her and all she lov'd here, and the bloom 
Of new life from those cheeks shall never flee — 
Theirs is the health, ^vl.ich lasts throu^'h all 
eternity. 



CXIII. 
There is a war within me, and a strife 
Between my meaner and my nobler powers ; 
I would and yet I cannot part with life, 
'Tis as a scorpion's sting to view those hours, 
Where soul has bow'd to sense, and darkly 

lours 
The future in the distance. — There are men, 
Vvhose strange- blent nature, now an angel's 

tow'rs. 
And rides among the loftiest, and then 
Seeks, like a snarling dog, the cynic's squalid 

den. 

CXIV. 

They nestle in their prison, they can find 
No friend to pour their hearts on, they would 
Closer than ivy to the kindred mind, [cling 

They touch — its ice-cold freezes, then they llu:^ 
AiTectjon to the winds, and madiy spring 
To shun their hated fellov.s ia soiue cave ; 



330 I 

A leaden Avcight confines Iheir spirit's wing.; 
Life palls them, theie is naughl beyond 

grave, 
They turn a sneer on Him, who gives his hand 

to save. 

cxv. 

Theirs is the boundless love of sentient being — ■ 
As thej have now (he will, had they the power, 
Were but their longings and their strength 

agreeing, ^ ^ 

Their outspread hand a flood of bliss would 

shower, 
And wake (he moral world, as in (he hour 
Ofspring walie? living nature — from his sleep 
Of vice and superstition Man should tower ; 
Thoughts pure, liigh feelings, purpose strong and 

deep, 
Should lift him on, like wings, up virtue's craggy 

steep. 

CXVI. 

And flowers should bloom on his ascending trackj 
Like roses on their wild thorns, by (he way 
The hunter scales the mountains, nor should lack 
rrlusic of tuneful birds, the IJute should play 
Tlie soft airs of the shepherdess, v/hen day 
Spreads the broad plane tree's noon shade, and 
Spangles her silent canopy, away [when night 
By some dark cavern on the lonely height. 
The full-voic'd hymn should tell ths hermit's 
holy flight. 

CXVH. 

Who sits alone in darkness, wrapp'd in musing. 
Communing with the Universe, the Power, 
Whose ceaseless mercy, love and life diffusing, 
Bids the sun dart his warm rays, sends the 
shower, 



331 .. 

Mantles the turf in jjreen, and decks the bower 
With tufted leaves and wreathM flowers, whose 

perfume, 
Eartli's incense, breathes most sweetly at tho 

hour, 
When soft-descending night-dews steep the 

bioonj, 
And with their star-lit gems the mantling arch 

illume : 

CXVIIT. 

And from this waste of beauty, fills tlie urn 
Of plenty with her fair fruits, spreads the plain 
With all the wealth of harvest, the return 
Of spring's delightful promise, with a chain 
Of love and bcunty binding life's domain 
To Him, who by his fiat gave it birth ; 
E!se had these ilowery fields a dcert lain, 
And all Iht riches of the teeming earth 
Been wither'd by the touch of endless, hopeless 
dearth ; 

CXIX. 

Else had one wilderness of rock and sand, 
Treeless and herbless, where no rain nor dew 
I'our'd their reviving influence, one land 
Ofsparkling barrenness appallVi the view, 
And o'er it heaven had raised its cloudless blue, 
Hot as the burning steel's cerulean glow, 
And the sun's blasting arrows darted through 
The scorch'd brain, till its lava blood viuld flow 
Iq torrents, and its veins throb with dtiirious 
throe ; 

cxx. 

And man had died of thirst and famine—Death 
Comes not with direr aspect ; eyes of blood, 
Starin? and bursting; frequent, tiery breath 
Heav'd from the brea^'. that ceecis one boiling 
lijcd 



332 

Of maddening pulse?, writhing as a brood 
Of serpents rousM to fury, like their hiss 
They rush along the swoln veins, and for food 
His parch'd jaws gnaw his flesh, and O I what 

biiss 
To drain his life's warm stream there is no 

death like this. 

CXXf. 

This is the living prototype of hell — 
The earth all fire without, all flame within, 
And conscience barking like a Hyaen's yell, 
And pouring out her vial'd wrath on sin; 
She lights her torch unwasting — then begin 
Ages of endless torture, for the heart, 
Whom Circe and the tempting Sirens win, 
Whi!e listening to their voice, must feel the 

smart 
And pangs of unfed Hope's forever probing dart» 



CXXII. 

The clouds are gathering on the mountain tops. 
And in their dark veil wrap those ciiflTs and 

towers 
Of wasteless granite, those enduring props, 
On which the arch of heaven rests, where the 

Powers 
Of winter hold their rule, even in the hours. 
When sultry summer scorches, there they roll 
And spread their frowning curtains — Night 

there lours 
With an unusual blackness, and the pole 
P».ocks with the bolt, as if the knell of nature 

toll'd. 

CXXIIl. 

In hazy gloom the threatening tempest brood?, 
Crowning with ebou wreaths the mountaiii's 
c-QGe. 



ooo 

And holfJiog in its magazine, (he floods, 
That soon will hurry headlong from its throne, 
From rock to rock impetuous pouring down 
Their dark, foam-crested waters, as the mane 
Waving amid the rush of war, and drown, 
In their wide-wasting waves, the cultur'd plain, 
And bear flocks, forests, towns and harvests to 
the main. 

CXXIV. 

And see — the cloudy billows heave their surges, 
In airy tides, along yon western wall, 
Now swiftly rolling as the rous'd wind tirges, 
Now^ hanging silent as the wild blasts fall. 
Drooping in massy folds, as if the pall 
Of all these sweet scenes o'er us were outspread ; 
Even as a spectre rising grim and tall 
At night to some scar'd wand'rer, fancy-led, 
Sullen and dim and dark towers yonder monn- 
tain's head. 

cxxv. 

A solemn pause — the woods below are still, 
No breezes wave their light leaves, and the lake 
Lies like a sleeping mirror; on the hill 
The white flocks eye the rain-drops, that will 

slake 
Their hot thirst, and the screaming curlews take 
Their circling flight along the silent stream ; 
Save their storm-loving music fiow awake, 
Nature seems slumb'ring io a midnight dream ; 
She starts — behold aloft that sudden quivVin^ 

gleam. 

CXXVI. \ 

The torch is lit among the clouds—the peals 
Roar thro' the lonely wilds, and echoing swell 
Around the far horizon — earth now feels 
And trembles as she listens — who can telJ 



331 1 

The spirit's awe ? as if it heard its knell, j| 

It bows before the Pow'r, whose hand conlrols 
Lightning and wind and waves, who loves to 

dwell 
In storms, and on its path the tempest roll?, ^ 
Whose words are bolts, whose glance electric^ 

pierces souls, 

CXXVII. 

And makes the bold blasphemer pale with aw<?, 
And stilis the madman's laugh, and strikes 

with dread 
The brow, that bore defiance to the law 
StampM on the universe ; he hides his head 
In darkness like the ostrich, all those, led 
J3y his once fearless mocking?, slink away, , 
Add oVr them prostrate, wrathful an£;e!s Iread^ 
And draw their fierj arrows, and repny 
VV^it-h fear and death the hear'?, that dore to 

disobey. 

CXXVIII. 

'TIs night, and we are on the mountain top — 
I'he air is motionlf ?s, and not a breath 
Of wind is V. hisper'd, and the pure dews drop 
From heav'n, like tears, upon this lovely death 
Of nature, while the landfcape underneath, 
And the vast arch above, smile in the ray 
Of the fu'l moon, who, circled in her wreath 
Of glory, vvalks, a queen, her lofty way, 
And pours upon the world a softer, calmer day, 

CXXIX. 

The hills, the pbins and meadows far below 
Sparkle wjth wat'ry diamond?, and the stream. 
Tl^.at steals in oft meanders, irj its flow 
Of })Gacefulness, is silvcrM with her be^m, 
An.l the round basins in (he woodlands so. r: 
XiiliQ mirfors circled iu a pearly row, 



335 

Anu like the colours of the dying breain, 

The soft mists hoveriug rouud them, bear the 

bow, 
The aerial brede of hght, lit with a mellower 

glow, 

cxxx. 

Than when it sits majestic on the storm, 
What lime it hangs along the eastern sky, 
'J'he herald of returning calm, its form, 
As imag'd erst, a maid of peaceful eye, 
AVho on her dewy saflVon wings would fly, 
And roll away the clouds along the wind. 
And laughing, as she saw the car on high 
Shine in ils full effulgence, as the mind, 
Whom sense can never sink, nor passion's fury 
blind. 

CXXXI. 

So rolls that car along its arch of blue, 
And shines with a serener effluence ; air, 
Wakened by fanning breezes, charms anew 
The flushM cheek with ils coolness ; heaven is 

fair, 
A speck dims not its liquid azure, there 
Tiie eye can rest Tvith calmness, and the green 
And bloom of grass and flow'rs new richness 

wear, 
And sweeter incense rises from the bean 
And jessamine and rose, that scent this dewy 

scene. 

CXXXII. 

As when the twilight of a weary life 

Comes on with quietness and purity, 

And after vainly struggling in the strife 

Of pleasure or ambition, from the eye 

The film falls, ana the mantling vapours Hy, 

And Man stands forth in nis pure, native worthy 

Aad after tears for lost years hurried by, 



336 I 

Tlio soul nvvakcns to a second birtli, 
And fur a fow licurs knows there is a hcav*/) <m 
earth. 

cxxxin. 

Live for the present moment, but live so, 
An you inigiit live forever ; let the cares 
And toils of this poor Ituiifiieiit being go, i 

And |)lti(l{ the fruit the tree of Unowledi^e bearsd 
And gaze upon the charms, which virtue wear«i 
Till h<;r e^^e'b light Ijas filPd and warmM you* 

brea;it— 
l?e strong; nud bold and active — he, who dares 
( .'onlend in virtue's panoply, is blest 
Alone with heaven's unstain'd, enduring, noised 

Jess rest. 

CXXXIV. 

fiive me the evening of a summer's day, 

A long brii^ht day of g!(tiy, when (Ik- sua 

I.« most efl'ulgent, antl the earth most gay, 

And afdr deeds oflofty daring done. 

And palms on many a fichJ of combat won, 

Where tempests rage, or noontides glows willi 

pow'r. 
And whun the mind its high career has run 
'J'o fie»;lc a covert at this s^ilcnt liour, 
Where songs and gales might lull in some sc« 

eluded bovv'r. 

cxxxv. 

' Tis nii;hl and winds are hush'd— tlie leaves are 

still, 
Or scarcely ru/He nti (he poplar bough. 
And where a stream of waving lii;;ht, the rill 
l)iips o'er the face of yonder mouiilain's brow, 
'i'he moon-beams shine nr< on I'iUdymion ; now 
'i'he forests are unpeopled of those gay 
And lovely nymphs and wanton iawns, but how 



337 

'Jhey cfavc the fancy of the Poet play, 

And threw a rosy hue and perfume o'er his ht} . 

CXXXVI. 

The Spring came forth, and with her came a 

train 
Of hours n\u\ loven and graces, every bow'r 
<JonccalM its nymph, and every flow'ry plain 
VVns full of liphl-wiusi'd cupids, for llio pow'r 
Of love awakM (he Universe, the hour, 
When Ilymcn lit his torch, and rsyche came 
WrappM in the embrace of Eros, and a show'r 
Of sweets was pour'd around them, and a flame 
Shot from the glowing eyes of that enamour'd 

dame. 

CXXXVII. 

Sljc gave her 30ul to love, and on her lip 
Her heart stood, and lie kifsM (he prize away, 
More sweet than when the dews from roses drip 
In spanj,des on (he gras?, in early day, 
When emerahJ sylphs on airy pinions p'^^j 
And li;!;htly hover, as the leaves unfold 
And fpiead (heir vermil velvt(, in the ray 
Pour'd through the leafy canopy, and rollM 
O'er all the bloom below in waving flooda of 
gold: 

CXXXVIII. 

The lilac purpling with its luscious spires, 
Breathing a milky nweetness, like (he balm 
From Aden's groves of myrrh, where summer 

fires 
The living world to rapture, but the calm, 
Cool shade of spreading maple?, than (he I'alm 
W'ith ill! its crimson clusters, cliarms me more ; 
The vi"jlct, lurkinj; underneath (he halm 
Of widier'd graNs-lufts, has a dearer B(ore 
Of sweets, than all the ilovv'fB that glow ou 

Ceylon's shore. 

E E 



338 

CXXXIX. 

The beart cannot be cold in snch a shade, 
it will be melted, as the icy stream, 
That steals with limpid current thro' the glade, 
And murmurs not in winter, but the beam 
Of warmth dissolves it ; as a fleeting dream, 
The fretted icicles- are gone, the wave, 
Ghding o^er snowj- sands in morniug's gleam, 
Chimes like the song of sorrow, Cycnus gave, <j 
in tones of dying woe around his brother's grave. ] 

******* 

CXL. . 

How poor, how weak, how impotent ii^Man— - 4 
Cradled in imbecility, the prey 1 

Of those, who love him fondest, who will fan 
His passions b}-- indulgence, and will sway 
To sense and self and pride and fear, and play 
Their apish tricka upon him, till his soul 
}ias lost its native innocence, the ray i 

Kindled from Heav'n, while feeble yet, is stole | 
By sirens and thenquenchM in Pleasure's manl- 1 
ling bowl. 

CXLI. 

The foamiug gobiet sparkles to the brim, 

And heedless youth hangs o'er the glowing 

stream. 
And in itsamber waters gaily swim 
'I'he fairest visions of enchantment's dreans, 
.^nd o'er it plays a soft and sunny beam, 
'J'hat steals in serpent windings to the heart, 
And like a viper's hid in roses, gleam 
The flashings of its keen eyes, as a dart i 

With venom tipp'd, they give deep wounds that . 1 

ne'er depart. ' 

CXLII. 

We lie along in gay, voluptuous ease — 
The full vine mantles o'er us, and our pillow 



339 

or mingled moss and flow'rs ; the hum of bees 
Sucking the dew of roses and the willow 
Now hung in downy bloom and cloth'd in yellow. 
Comes like a drowsy zephyr on the ear, 
i\nd Ihe clear-flowing fountain murmurs mellow, 
And airy birds in mazy circles veer, 
And all .^eems fair and bright as some celestial 
sphere. 

CXLIII. 

We sip the cup of promise, and we drain 
With eager lip its nectar, till the fume 
Mounts kindling to the wild and heated brain ; 
And then all things a richer lint assume. 
And are enrob'd in splendour, and illumed 
With gay looks and bright eyes and speaking 

glances, 
And laughing frolic waves her spangled plume, 
And revelry with light step featly dances, 
And on their rainbow Avings flit round a crowd 

of fancies. 

CXLIV. 

And from our couch we spring — we scarce can 

tread ^ 

This poor earth in our extacy, on nigh 
We float through fields of Ether, o-verhead 
Swells with a bluer loftier arch the sky, 
And on an Eagle's wings we seem to fly. 
And all the kingdoms of the v/orld appear 
In dazzling beauty to the fancy's eye. 
And like the tuneful spirit of some sphere, 
Th« sweet winds pour full floods of music in our 

ear, 

CXLV. 

As breezes from Sciba?a o'er the main 

Waft fragrance on their f>ifiions from the groves 
Of Myrrh and Cassict, and the Fnowy plain 
Of Coffee-blossoms, where the queea <jf Love?, 



340 

Drawn in her pearly car by purple doves, 
Would linger with most fondness on her way ; 
A land of passion— under shady coves 
Hollow'd in living rock, they spend the day, 
To see their Houries dance and hear their cit- 
terns play. 



CXLVI. 

The past is gone — it can return no more, 
The dew of life exhal'd, its glory set ; 
It has no other goods for me in store, 
It is a dreary wilderness, and yet 
I fondly look and linger. In the net 
Of pleasure, all the breathings of my soul, 
The burning thoughts alone on Learning set 
In tender childhood, pointed to the goii!, 
Where bards and sages aim'd, in Youth blind 
leaders stole, 

CXLVII. 

And vile companions rifled, and they left 
My heart dispirited and sunk and poor, 
Of all its highest hopes and wants bereft, 
A pinnace on the waves with naught to moor 
Or hind if to the safe bank; from the shore, 
Where my best pow'rs stood weeping, o'er the 

deep. 
Tossing and madly heaving, wild winds bore 
My dark, distracted being, where fiends keep 
Their orgies, and the worm, that gnaws, will 

never sleep. 

CXLVIII. 

There is no hope— (en years the winds have 

blown. 
That bore me to my ruin, and the waves 
Koll in my Avake like mountains — Joy has flown . 
And left behind the lonely turfless graves 
Of early fond attachcaeiUs— like the sisvee 



341 

Bound felfer'd to the galley, at (he oar 
Still I must toil uncheerd, or in the caves, 
Where not a ray of hope comes, I must pour 
Tears, bitter tears, that well from the heart's 
bleeding core. 

CXLIX. 

The ?ou1, that had its home with me, was bright^ 
Its early promise, as the flow'rs of spring, 
Profuse in richness as the dawning light, 
When the gay rosy-footed Hours take wing, 
And from the glowing East the coursers spring", 
That bear the car of day along its road, 
And o'er a waking world their radiance fl;ng-~ 
So bright the stream of mind within me flow'd, 
It had one only wish — to scale the high abode, 

CL. 

Where Truth has rear'd her awful throne, and 

pure 
Platonic beauty sits, a smiling bride, 
The Majesty that bows, and to allure 
The winning charms of Virtue by his side— 
Curs'd be the dravvling pedants, who divide 
The monarch from his lovely queen, and sink 
The soul in stupid awe, too soon to hide 
Its coward head in pleasure's lap and drink 
Her tempting fiery draughts — Stop ! ye are On 

the brink 

CLI. 

Of endless woe and ruin — sleep no more — 
The charm will soon be broken — ye will wake. 
And find the alluring hours, that woo'd j'ou, o'er, 
And rising like a fury, Vice will shake 
Her smoky torch, and in your heart's blood 

slake 
Us Hell-lit fifss, and you will seek in vain 
The young davs, tiiat have vanishM; in th& 

lake, 



342 

That Priests have drawn so highly, there remaifti 
But years of hopeless thought, and still return- 
ing pain. 

CLII. 

Tlie world may scorn me, if they choose — ^l car« 
Fiut little for their scoffings — I will think 
Freely, while life shall linger on, and there 
I find a plank, that bears me — I may sink 
For moments, but I rise again, nor shrink 
From doing what the love of Man inspires i 
( will not flatter, fawn, nor crouch, nor wink 
A'\t what high-mounted wealth or pow'r desires; 
I have a loftier aim to which my soul aspires. 

CLIH. 

^Tis of no common order, but is founded 

On all the capabilities of Man, 

.Not like Condorcet's waking dream?, Hia 

bounded 
By what our free, unfetter'd efforts can, 
The high career, that Tully, Plato, ran. 
Or higher still the ideal they could form — 
'Tis ignorance, not nature, puts the ban 
On these bright perfect visions, which could 

warm 
r/orlhies of Old, who liv'd in virtue's darkest 

storm. 

CLIV. 

They saw Man sunk around them, grovelling, 

vile, 
..A m.ass of brutal grossness, shivering fear, 
follies, that made the cold Abderite smile 
Aid on his fellows look with bider sneer. 
And squalid wots, that drew the Ephesian's 

tear. 
Which flow'd for miseries, he could not h^al ; 
60 wept the man, to whom all life was dear, 



343 

Whose heart was made most senfitive to fwl, 
And from a wretched world in hopeless sorrow 
steal. 

CLV. 

He could not cure the malady — too deep 
The poison'd dart was planted ; but he g:ave 
His witness, and his voice should never sleep, 
A warning sound should issue from his grave, 
And tell to ages words, which heard might sav3 
From woes like those he suffer'd, woes like 

mine ; 
The man, who will speak boldly, and will brave 
A thoughtless world's contempt, deserves to 

shine 
Bright in the loftiest niche of Fame's enduring 

shriue. 

CLV I. 

To feel a heart within thee, tender, flowing' 
In tears at others pain, and rack'd with thine, 
A sou!, (hat longs for high attainments, glowing 
For all tliat can ennobie, raise, refine, 
Whose dearest longings seem almost divine. 
The insatiate grasp for knowledge, and the aim 
Of tireless, fearless virtue, fhen to pine. 
Unknown, unvalued, and to quench the flame 
Of mind in some low slough, and bid farewell to 
fame. 

CLVII. 

And why ? because no hand was near to check 
The wanderings of my childhood, but their care, 
If care it could be cail'd, which caus'd my 

wreck, 

Made sin's descending path to me seem faJr ; 
Phey pour'd her tempting fruits and viands 

there. 
And kindled in my heart the lava stream 
^[ wasting passion — now I wake and bare. 



344 

i5efoTC me lie the horrors of that dream, 
Which poor perverted youth the fairest Eden 
deem. 

CLVIII. 

The world wil] never pity woes like mine— = 
^Tis only justice pouring out her flood — 
J ask no pity, nor will I incline 
IVeakly before the cross, nor in the blood 
Of others wash awaj' my crimes — I stood 
Alone, wrapp'd in suspicion and despair, 
For they did goad me early to that mood — 
i hate not men, but yet I will not share 
Again their follies, hopes, their toils and fears, 
cor wear 

CLIX. 

The mantle of the Hypocrite, nor bow 
Before a fancied pow'r, nor lisp Ihe creed, 
"Which offers them new life, they know not how, 
A blind belief, whose ministers will lead, 
Even as a hireling slave (he shackled sleed. 
The many, who to naturals laws are blind — 
The heart, whom early wrongs have taught toj 

bleed, i 

When blended with a bright and well-stor'(| 

mind, j 

la solace, such as this, no hope, no joy can findj 

CLX. 

I will not lift my hand against those laws, i 

Which nature wears instssnip'd upon heT, nor j 

Gird me to battle in so weak a cause, | 
IVor waste my efforts in so fruitless war ; 
But I will weep the hojies, I panted for. 
Which virtue might have made reality. 

And know (hat fortune with malignant star ] 

Lighted my path, and with an evil eye \ 
Left me to those, who crawl'd io Epicurus' stye.; 



345 

CLXI. 

I sec the charms of virtue— caa I take 
Again her narrow path, which leads to heav'n, 
Beside it flows a fountain, which can slake 
The temperate (hirst*of nature, there are giv'n 
Fruits, which refresh, not kindle — I have strivea 
Against the long perversions of my frame, 
And I will strive — but no, by passion driven, 
In evil hour, I do the deed of shame, 
And for a time I quench the soul's reviving flame* 

CLXII. 

I have DO hand to cheer me — was there one, 
"Whom I must ever long for, was that heart 
Still mine in all my failings, as the sun 
Wakens a slumbering world, sl^e might impart 
New being to me, and my sou^ would start, 
As giants from their sleep, to run the race 
Of glory, and to hurl the unerring dart, 
Where victory rears her palra-braach — No, my 

chase 
t>[ fame is done, and left behind it scarce a 

trace. 



SONNET. 

FAREWELL I ye visions of my wayward 

brain. 
Farewell I I send you from this lonely bow'r — 
But I shall ne'er forget your soothing pow'r, 
Although perhaps we never meet again ; 
Yet I have not commun'd with you in vain, 
Jf but some portion of that hallow'd fire, 
Which roua'd the ancient Bard to pour his 

etfj^in, 

F F 



Has warm'd my lips and rais'd my spirit 

higher — 
Ye go abroad upon a stormy sea, 
But there are some, perchSnce, may not despise 
SucIj trifles, though they were compos'd by rne, 
And they may view them with approving eyes, 
While I, as 1 have ever been, shall be, 
Lone reader of the v,'ood.s, the waters, and i\ . 

skjes. 



TH^E KXO: 



.%'. H. MALTBY & CO. Printer?, 
Chapel-Strcct. 



ERRATA. 

T. 4o 1. 9 for engage, read engaged. 

52 1. 1 iov Dythyrambic read Dithyramhic 
99 1. 4 from bottom, after Rest, insert 0/<. 
101 1. 5 {or pinon read pinion. 
^09 1. 3 from bottom, for bonds re^Abands. 
1J3 1. 20 for ichere read whose. 
127 1. 3 from bottom, for funeral read /une- 

rccrZ. 
129 1. 3 from bottom, for couM I read / 
could. 

132 I. 8 for ^45 read Of. 

133 1. 2 from bottom, after charms insert on, 
137 I. 8 for Though read Through. 

last 1. for groves read graves. 

156 1. 22. 160 I. 17. 301 5 from bottom, 

for syren read 5?Ven. 
197 1. 15 for cerial read aerial. 

214 ]. 16 for rnge^ read rage and. 

215 I. 4 for Mff/ read than. 

222 1. 12 for Grenada read Granada, 

288 1. 12 for stygein read sfygian. 

319 1.8 dele nature's. 

321 1. 6 from bottom, for centne read centre. 

323 I. 12 from bottom, for hise ars rtad /'j*.^ 

ccrr5. 
331 1. 15 from bottom for ?to.read ??or. 



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